


Now That They're Gone

by grimeysociety



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hacker Darcy Lewis, Hacking, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-01-29 16:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimeysociety/pseuds/grimeysociety
Summary: After Thor went for the head, life has been dragging on. Natasha asks Steve to stop a young hacker named Darcy Lewis.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Comments: 252
Kudos: 453





	1. 1_347 73H R1CH

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another fic from my Kinktober 2019 prompt fills that I wanted to expand on (Day 27 "Against a wall" to be specific). **This is set during Endgame, so please be aware that this is a very angst-ridden story.**
> 
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)

_And the rain keeps coming down along the ceiling_   
_And I can hear it_   
_But I can't feel it_

**\- "Now I'm In It" by HAIM**

**1_347 73H R1CH**

Sometimes he let Nat to Voicemail. He had a less crappy Tuesday morning, so he answered her call after a few rings.

“I wouldn’t bother you unless it was serious.”

“I know,” he murmured.

He glanced out his window, seeing two middle-aged men arguing in the street. It was 549 days since Thanos came to Earth. He saw the two guys at it yesterday, and last week, too. His neighbors liked to argue. He shut his window abruptly, closing the shades.

“What is it this time?”

Nat cut to the chase. In all the years he’d known her, she never acted like she wasn’t in the middle of something. The woman never took a vacation, never took a second to rest.

“It’s the same group, they’re operating all over. We’re stretched too thin to properly investigate.”

He waited for her to say it, but she didn’t, so instead he murmured:

“You need my expertise.”

That meant a lot of different things. Before the war, that meant drawing, on birthday cards or street signs. There was a time when Steve was an artist. Then came Hitler and HYDRA and Erskine, and his skillset expanded to his fists and enhanced abilities. He was a tactician, a weapon. After he woke from the ice, he was an Avenger.

And then Thanos fucked all of that up and he had to pick up the pieces, help those left behind. He knew Nat meant for him to use his words, to motivate others in need.

“I wouldn’t call her reckless, because that would mean there was a smarter way to do what she’s doing.”

“Who are you talking about?”

There was a pause on Nat’s end and Steve could hear the neighbors start up again.

“Do you remember a story Thor told us once when we got shawarma?”

Thor had many stories. Thinking of him now, what Steve remembered of the Norse god and who he’d become were two different people. He used to take pain in his stride. He and Steve would make it a competition, their friendly rivalry a balm for all the chaos of battle.

“What story?”

“The one about him landing in Puente Antiguo and getting tasered.”

Steve rubbed his eyes, picturing Thor’s animated face.

“The girl who tasered him, she didn’t dust.”

“She in trouble?”

“Maybe you should come by, see what I mean.”

It might break up some of the weeks that had strung together. He knew she was trying to give him a mission. Steve glanced at his car keys that rested on his desk.

-

“Her name is Darcy Lewis.”

He glanced at the holofile Nat had open, seeing a woman in her early thirties with a heart-shaped face and full lips, wearing a pair of glasses and a beanie.

“What did she do?”

“She’s an expert hacker. When she worked for Jane Foster over the years, there were a number of incidents involving her.”

Her file was sparse, showing she was born roughly seventy years after him in Chicago, her parents listed as deceased.

“She’s kept it up, and she’s got better.” She exchanged a look with Steve. “She’s almost as good as me. Almost.”

“Of course,” he replied, though he was sure Nat would never admit to being outwitted.

“She’s improved enough that she frequently remote hacks our systems, hence why the file I have on her is so small. I tend to keep hers as a hard copy.”

He didn’t believe Nat would involve him in something as simple as hacking SHIELD. She licked her lips.

“She won’t talk to me.”

“What’s she done?” he asked.

She began bringing up news articles, reports of online theft, data being dumped and so on.

“Her group hacks the rich so they can give to the poor.”

“And she’ll listen to me because -?”

“She’d consider you the type of person to look out for the little guy.”

He glanced at her photo again.

“Where is she?”

“Last spotted in the East Village two days ago. She operates all over the city. She sometimes has other people take her in, but as far as we know, she doesn’t have a permanent residence.”

“Why us, why not leave this up to the FBI, or -?”

“A familiar face would mean we could flip her more easily.”

“I’m not recruiting a random girl…”

“There are dozens in her little army. They’re currently redistributing enough wealth to cause another financial crisis.”

Steve dropped his voice lower. “The world economy is already screwed up, Nat.”

She sighed. “She’s going to get herself killed. I’d do it, but…”

Steve nodded. “Okay. I’ll see if I can make contact.”

He didn’t promise anything but Nat looked grateful.

“You stay here and keep the lights on,” he added, and she gave him a little smile.

-

Darcy’s movements reminded Steve of a well-oiled machine. Everything was measured. She took her time, giving the appearance of someone on their way to something urgent without seeming like she was fleeing.

He was better at pursuit and hiding since he was on the run, but she was better. At one moment when he managed to keep himself close enough to sense her in the middle of a crowd, he lost her, turning a corner to check if she had slipped away. He was met with cool metal at his throat, Darcy’s knife resting against his skin. Her eyes were sharp, her lips curling as she gazed up at him.

“I had a feeling it was you,” she murmured. “I just had to be sure.”

“Verdict?” he managed to reply, and Darcy blinked once, twice.

“That van’s been following us for the last ten minutes.”

Steve could make out an outline of a vehicle in the corner of his eye but didn’t turn his head. Darcy lowered her knife.

“Not with me.”

“I might be seeing things. But either way, we need to go,” she replied, and she moved on, slipping further into the dark of the alleyway.

She didn’t say a word, weaving through parked cars and pedestrians when they reached a main street.

“You’re buying me dinner,” she said without looking at him.

They ducked into a diner, only for Darcy to move to the back, the girl at the register lifting the bench for her to duck under and Steve followed, hearing heavy rap music playing from the room beyond. An overweight guy with a dirty black hoodie lifted a hand holding a joint in greeting, his eyes resting on Steve’s face.

“He’s not here,” Darcy said, and the guy nodded, leaving them alone.

She put a finger to her lips and Steve kept still, until Darcy was satisfied, lowering her finger and rubbing her face.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a curtesy call.”

“One incident would warrant that. But you’re more than a blip on our radar. From what I read –”

“I don’t see any cuffs on you,” she cut in, tilting her head to inspect him, and Steve felt a flare of something he thought his body had long forgotten – arousal – deep in his stomach.

“No,” he replied.

“And you're not armed.”

“No.”

“I doubt it’d cost you much to take me out with your bare hands.”

He felt like he knew her, and maybe he did a little because of reading some of the case file Nat had been building. It was more than that. She almost seemed too familiar to him and years ago Steve would have welcomed it. Now, nine times out of ten that type of friendliness came across as false to him. He should know all about lying since he did enough of it himself.

“Why the trip?”

“Came to talk you down.”

Her brows lifted as she crossed her arms over her ample chest hidden beneath a men’s t-shirt.

“I’m not going to stop just because you asked me nicely.”

“Stop doing what, exactly?”

A moment passed between them and she smiled, glancing away.

“Oh… I’m not about to incriminate myself, no matter how much you try to make me swoon, Captain Rogers.”

Steve didn’t think he was really laying the charm on her, so her comment caught him off-guard, his lips parting to argue, but Darcy moved, slipping past him to take the exit. He was right behind her, watching as she threw herself up to grab a fire escape ladder and begin to climb.

“Where are you going?” he called after her, and Darcy glanced down at him, frowning.

“This meeting doesn’t require more than two sets of ears.”

He followed her up, ducking through an open window. It stank, the apartment abandoned evidently some time ago, and Darcy threw down her backpack, unzipping it and taking out a Clif bar. She held up a second one which Steve declined with the slightest shake of his head.

“You sure? It’s white chocolate and macadamia.”

“I’m good. You live here?”

“Not really,” she replied, chomping her bar.

It smelt vaguely of mint. She chewed fast and swallowed. He could see she was hungry. He thought about actually taking her somewhere for a decent meal, something hot and filling, with a tall glass of beer. He thought of those pubs in England he went to decades ago, the food disgusting but welcome.

“What’s the endgame here?” she mumbled, swallowing her mouthful.

He blinked at her, realizing he was staring. She was beautiful and weary, her eyes tired.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted. “Except that if you don’t stop, you’re going to die.”

She let out a short laugh like a bark, eating the rest of the bar. She shoved the empty wrapper away, contemplating the second bar before putting it back in her bag.

“I’ve heard it before.”

“You know it’s wrong,” he said, and she met his eyes, narrowing her own. He pressed on. “I don’t meant to sound patronizing –”

“And yet you are,” Darcy muttered.

“I’m told I do it so well,” he said.

“Who said that the last time? Tony Stark?” she said.

He hadn’t seen Tony in months. Their correspondence ran dry. He didn’t meet his kid when she was born like Nat had. It was clear that the friendship they shared was damaged beyond repair from the years Steve spent on the run, sticking to his guns.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you about wrong and right…”

“Hell fucking no, Steve,” she said. “I read the Accords and I’m on your side, I guess, but all of that was fucked up. And then you hid James Barnes –”

“I didn’t hide him,” he snapped, and he felt the façade begin to crumble, the one he’d used for months to hold himself together.

He was so angry inside, angry and hurt.

“If you know anything about Bucky, then you’d know he was in Wakanda,” he said, his tone levelled.

Darcy’s eyes flitted to her bag and she picked it up again, taking out her laptop. He watched her open it and connect some cables together, beginning to type.

“Agent Romanoff sent you because she knows I’d respond better to a guy like you,” she murmured, and Steve didn’t know what to respond with.

Honesty seemed the best policy. He only nodded, and she sighed.

“I wonder if she knows about the project I did on you when I was twelve.”

He felt his lips curl for a second as she smirked, the screen of her laptop reflecting in her glasses as she kept tapping on the keys.

“Knowing Nat? Probably,” he murmured. “Probably knows what grade you got on it, too.”

“B-minus,” she murmured, tutting.

A chuckle ebbed from his lips, the sound surprising him. Her eyes swung to meet his.

“That’s a shame.”

“It’s bullshit,” she amended. “I wrote a very compelling essay. I think my teacher didn’t approve of the amount of photographs I tried to include in my presentation.”

There was a silence and she kept typing, her gaze shifting back to him after a minute or so.

“You look the same. I don’t think you really age.”

He disagreed. Each morning that he saw himself in the mirror, he could see the years on his face. He knew arguing with her served no purpose, so he let it go. Then it occurred to him that it was her half-hearted attempt at flirting, the brief glimmer in her eye as he looked back at her.

“You can’t stay here,” he said, changing the subject. “It stinks.”

“I won’t,” she retorted. “I need to keep moving anyway. Since you know I’m here, I’m sure others will notice. And then you telling me _my life is on the line_ –”

“Because it is,” he said, folding his arms.

She had the audacity to roll her eyes.

“I’m aware. And you people at SHIELD should stop trying to draw attention to me, too –”

“I don’t work for SHIELD anymore,” Steve murmured.

“Oh, I know,” she said, eyes slightly wider.

She kept typing the entire time, never once stalling for their conversation. If Steve was around it too long he was sure the incessant clacking of the keys would give him a headache.

“What are you doing right now, anyway?”

“Sending money to a battered women’s shelter in Ohio.”

He tilted his head. “_Whose_ money -?”

She cut off his question with her own. “Did you know that before he dusted, Jeff Bezos was earning a billion dollars a week?”

Steve blinked. “I didn’t know that –”

“He was the founder of Amazon and he was earning a _billion_ dollars _every _week. A _billion_ dollars. Amazon workers earn less than fourteen dollars an _hour_.”

The pitch of her voice had risen a few notches, and she finally stopped typing.

“The people you’re stealing from are all dead,” Steve said, and she nodded.

“I’m evening the odds,” she murmured.

He closed his eyes, sighing. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

She sat up, snapping her laptop shut, startling Steve. She shoved it away in her bag, hitching onto her shoulder.

“Nat didn’t want to call you reckless,” he began, watching her pack everything up, her eyes wild. She glared at him. “And maybe she’s wrong –”

“I’m not suicidal,” she snapped. “I don’t need you analyzing me. I need you to leave me alone, so I can do something good –”

“You can!”

“What, like _you_?”

She turned toward him and he took a step back.

“Lying to people at your group therapy sessions about how you’ve moved on, when you’re constantly visiting the memorial?”

He stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open in shock. In the time for him to process what she said, she was moving toward the window.

“Did you have people following me?” he whispered, and she turned her head toward him, her face slackening.

“I… I didn’t have to,” she said, her hands dropping to her sides. “I saw you myself, once.”

She looked at the ground, closing her eyes. She sucked in a breath.

“Goddamn it.”

She moved to open the window but Steve was faster, grabbing her wrist and twisting her around, his heart racing. It was too much, seeing her this way – and he wondered why it mattered, this stranger who was hacking and squatting in apartments. He wondered what she’d done to deserve his attention, when for months – because she was right – he _had_ been lying to the people he counselled. It was why he no longer went into the street whenever his neighbors fought to try and break it up. He’d stopped trying.

“Steve –”

He cut her off with a kiss, and she made a sound like a whimper, his hands taking hold of her and spinning her away from the window, backing her against the wall. She shuffled, her bag coming off her shoulders, his tongue slipping between her lips.

He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t himself. He tried to justify it, when really, he just wanted her. He wanted to feel something genuine, even if it hurt. And he hurt so much, deep in his chest, and he could feel she was the same.

Her hands went to his slacks, unbuckling his belt and fly, his mouth on her neck, breathing in the scent on her soft skin. Something like baby powder, and sweat. Her body odor was making him hard – that, and the sounds she was making in his ear like she couldn’t contain herself.

He lifted her up, her thighs wrapping around him, their pants pulled down, and he saw between her legs, her pink little pussy. He kissed her hard, and he was rougher than usual, he knew he could try to be kinder – but he didn’t care, and she didn’t demand it, either, all she did was _beg_ him to fuck her and he pushed inside her, his forehead pressed to hers –

She moaned, arching her back so she went further up the wall, exposing her neck. He began to move, hard and slow, both of them panting. He kept knocking her into the wall, lost in the tight slick of her, closing his eyes finally...

They rocked together, and he could feel it building, his balls already tightening, his breathing getting shallower. He wasn’t going to last much longer and kissed her again, trying his best to not think about it, how wrong this all was –

Her cunt suddenly tightened around him and he glanced down, seeing her hand between them, bringing herself off, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he pulled out of her, still holding her up with one arm while his other hand held his cock, coming in his fist.

It took three whole seconds for the guilt to set in, and he tucked himself back in his pants, looking down at the mess on his hand.

“Let me get you dinner.”

“What? No,” she said, and he glanced at her, seeing her face soften. “You don’t… have to. Just because we – Jesus Christ…”

She put her face in her hands and sighed.

“Yeah, okay.”

-

He bought her a slice of pizza. He watched her eat it in silence as they sat opposite one another in a booth.

“You gonna be okay?” she murmured, which surprised him.

He tried his best to wash up in the bathroom earlier but he could smell her on him, and he wondered if he’d remember the scent long after he left her.

“Yeah. Do you want to get a hotel?”

He’d rather cut to the chase than try and teeter his way around it awkwardly. Barebacking in an abandoned apartment seemed to cut out his desire to keep some kind of distance from her. The longer he was around her, the more he wanted her.

He didn’t want to think about what it meant – wanting to help her, touch her. Make her smile, maybe.

She thought about his suggestion, looking out the window. She swallowed.

“Okay.”

He kept looking at her as they rode the elevator up to their room an hour later. The hotel was moderately priced, advertising a great breakfast buffet option. Steve didn’t expect Darcy to stay the night to enjoy her eggs however she liked them in the morning.

When he unlocked the hotel door and let them in, Darcy walked straight into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Steve could hear her run the bath and let out a sigh, and he sat down on the bed and turned on the TV.

He was alone, listening to her splash around in there for a little while, and he lay down, closing his eyes. At one point he heard her drain the bath and open the bathroom door, steam flooding into the room. He felt the bed shift as she sat down and he opened his eyes, seeing her there, wrapped in a white fluffy towel.

Instead of saying anything, he moved up to kiss her, rolling them so she was under him, unwrapping the towel and tracing his hands over her exposed skin, so warm and soft from the bath.

He was slower than before, gentle. She reached for his belt buckle again, both of them gasping when he filled her slowly and steadily, her thighs wrapped around his middle.

Everything made more sense with her. He got what he wanted, he didn’t have to lie. They made love, her legs still tangled with his afterwards, his face hovering above hers.

“You don’t want me to die, because if I did – you’d be letting Thor down,” she murmured, and he nodded. “Both you and Romanoff feel responsible.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice rough. “But it’s also –”

“I know,” she murmured back. “I know…”

He didn’t have to say it – he was heartbroken. She knew it, and most likely felt it herself. He liked her, and he cared about her.

“I’ll… tie up some loose ends. Liquidate,” she said, tracing his face with her fingertips. “Most of the job is already done.”

They went quiet and he saw her eyes go glassy and she cleared her throat.

“Anyway. Gotta move on. We have to.”

“You really believe that?” he murmured.

“No,” she whispered, and they both smiled at one another, a little pained. “I won’t turn myself in, though.”

“Nat said you’re not on any other agency’s radar,” he said, and she looked surprised. “She made sure.”

“Oh…”

-

The third time they had sex, she was on top, and afterwards he cried, but she never said a word, didn’t try to make him stop.

She left him a note about meeting him at the memorial in three weeks. The post scriptum made him laugh out loud:

_At least we'll always have that wall in that piece of shit apartment. _


	2. 2_5YMP47HY PH0R L4DY VEN9E4NCE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darkness, my old friend....
> 
> cw: references to child sexual abuse, violence, heavy angst

_Loving you is complicated, loving you is complicated_  
_I place blame on you still, place shame on you still_  
_Feel like you ain't shit, feel like you don't feel_  
**\- "u" by Kendrick Lamar**

**2_5YMP47HY PH0R L4DY VEN9E4NCE**

The club always played their music way too loud. Martin had been to every strip club in the city, or thereabouts. This one, Bounce, was on the lower rungs of the ladder.

He could do more at this type of club. The bouncers were threatening enough, but these places would sometimes have a reputation when new management came in. Over the last year, since so many people dusted, immigrant girls came in, and they’d do anything for a quick buck.

Anything.

Martin adjusted his tie, loosening it as he glanced around the little tables with chairs. He could sense he was being watched by other girls, ones he wasn’t too interested in. He wanted Cherry, the platinum blonde who didn’t look old enough to be ordering the bottle service that she brought with her to the private room he took last time.

A black girl circled and he walked straight past her, ignoring her, when he spotted the platinum bob, the girl facing the bar. He glanced down at her when he arrived, tilting his head slightly at her rear end. She wore a pink bikini with matching metallic thigh-high boots, with several leather belts fitted together to make a harness top that partially covered her upper half.

“Hi!”

He was leaning in to yell in her ear, smiling as she began to spin around.

Except it wasn’t Cherry.

“Hi,” she said, grinning. She had a gap between her front teeth.

Martin glanced down, his eyebrows hiking. Her tits were huge, and they seemed natural, a couple deep blue veins visible beneath her porcelain skin. He smiled a little wider, looking down at her.

“Look at you.”

She smiled, gesturing with the slight tilt of her head toward the exit.

“You wanna get a room, baby?”

She had a cute voice. He nodded, and she linked arms with him, walking them past the bar and down a hallway. She wore a little leather backpack and he glanced down at her behind as they walked, admiring the view. They slipped into a little suite, a different one to the last time, but Martin knew these places had the same VIP rooms, all of them featuring a space for a girl to dance, a couch for her audience, and a table for drinks or whatever else they brought.

He did a line in front of her, tapping it out and cutting it with his credit card, using a little stainless steel straw to snort it, rubbing his gums with the remnants as the girl stayed standing, turning vaguely on the spot, her hips swinging.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Martin asked, and the girl grinned at him, taking off her backpack.

Her tongue was between her teeth. He pictured her running her wet, pink tongue along his dick. He chuckled, waiting for her answer.

“Karma,” she said, tilting her head.

Martin frowned. “What?”

Her hand was in her backpack as she said it, and then she was darting forward, pressing something against his neck.

He dropped like a stone, and the girl stood back, poking him with her boot to check if she needed to tase him again. She shoved the device away, getting out a zip tie to secure his wrists, and with some effort, she pushed him back against the cushions.

She checked her phone, making sure the cameras were still out. She heard Martin groan and she stood up, drawing her knife from her bra, flipping it open to press to his neck as she covered mouth with her hand.

“Listen very carefully. If you scream, I will kill you. Do I have to gag you?”

His eyes widened and he shook his head. She kept the knife there, settling down beside him, her voice low.

“I’m going to tell you a story.”

She scanned his face, seeing the sweat beginning to form along his hairline.

“There’s a girl that works here, Cherry Lane.”

She saw the flash of recognition on his face, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, his breath shuddering.

“She used to work as a teacher’s aide before the world ended,” she went on. “Then she got laid off and she was trying to make ends meet… I don’t judge a girl for how she makes her money, but you however –”

She grinned, but nothing about her smile was sweet. Martin began to shake.

“Cherry’s boyfriend didn’t want her doing this job,” she said. “He didn’t want her getting hurt, since it’s dangerous. I mean, sex work is dangerous, but… you cut her up pretty badly.”

Martin remembered the broken glass he ran across her face and thighs. The girl screamed, but he held her down through it, and left her a pretty big tip for the emergency room. He was surprised they let him back in tonight, but maybe the staff weren’t told, or maybe they just didn’t care. He didn’t expect this girl, whoever the fuck she was, to corner him like this.

He’d been way too high to really think anything through last time. Now, however, he could at least feel his face, and the cool metal she pressed to his skin.

“Sex work is still work,” she said. “It doesn’t matter what industry a person works in, you don’t assault someone.”

He tried to speak, to apologize, but she shushed him, moving in closer to whisper.

“Cherry’s boyfriend was understandably upset. He contacted me, and I did some digging when Cherry gave me your description.”

She held up her phone, and Martin froze, seeing his wife staring back at him, a picture of her he’d uploaded to the cloud sometime in the last month.

“She’s seven months pregnant, and you’re here, wagging your dick around? Oof,” the girl said, turning the phone to take his picture, the knife still pressed to his neck.

He could hit her, get the blade from her, and maybe squeeze out a window without anyone noticing. Police hadn’t been so great at keeping on top of crime those days. She smiled again, reading his mind.

“Even if you get the phone and knife from me, I have my people outside, watching.”

She picked up the edge of her harness.

“See this buckle? It’s not a buckle. It’s a wide-angle fiber optics lens.”

She looked up at the ceiling.

“Camera’s out. My guys, too.”

She kept smiling, sighing a little.

“I need a name. Who keeps your money, and where the account is,” she said. “And also, you will never come here, or to any other club, ever again.”

Martin gulped.

“Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to ask your wife?” she asked, taking her hand away.

He pulled in a few sharp breaths like he’d run a marathon, his panic setting into his bones.

“They’ll kill me,” he said.

“I know,” she murmured. “And usually I would tell a father that their child needs them in their life, but I know you, Luke Martin, and I know every little thing you’ve ever done.”

His eyes misted and he gasped.

“Please, I can’t – I can’t tell you, they’ll kill me, they’ll put a gun down my throat. My wife doesn’t know anything…”

“I know she doesn’t, I read her emails. She’s been _worried_ about you,” Darcy said, making a face. “All the late nights out, working so hard before the baby comes. So, Luke, the name. And then I won’t have your wife find out about Cherry or the other girls. Or me.”

He swallowed, closing his eyes.

“It’s in the Cayman Islands. Weronika.”

The woman moved the knife away and he let out a groan.

“I’ll die,” he said, and the girl rolled her eyes.

“You’re being dramatic."

“I’ve done things,” he cut in, his voice hollow. “Things I can’t – I can’t have people find out.”

“Oh, I know _all_ about that,” the girl said, pushing off from the couch, going for her bag again, putting her phone away before picking up the taser again.

Martin’s eyes widened and he whimpered.

“Please. I have to –”

“I don’t negotiate,” she snapped, and he tried to shuffle away, kicking her leg.

She didn’t flinch, her face like stone when she advanced on him again, her taser slamming into his neck as he cried out.

She stood back, looking at the wet patch he’d left behind as he fell, the room reeking of urine. She picked up her things and left him there.

-

“What am I lookin’ at?” Steve asked, as he watched Natasha’s mouth set in a grim line, her jaw tight.

The holofiles above them showed a familiar face, someone he’d seen on the front page of his newspaper. The man was in his early forties, his hair neat and smoothed back, his cheeks clean-shaven, with a cleft chin and large green eyes. He was a classically handsome guy, but Steve knew better, and so did anyone who had access to the Internet or a television.

He wasn’t necessarily playing dumb, he just wanted to know why they were concerning themselves with a guy who’d jumped out of a skyscraper that morning. In the aftermath, skeletons came tumbling out of closets, things that turned stomachs over.

“Luke Martin, he was part of a pedophile ring. Some White House guys were involved. It was an international brotherhood, you could say,” Natasha murmured. “He had a wide collection of videos and photographs. Some of the brotherhood went on trips together.”

Steve shook his head, looking away. “Yeah.”

“It didn’t take a lot of digging to find out where he was the night before,” she said. “He was at a strip club in Koreatown a couple weeks back, and sure enough –”

She pulled up footage from a main room, and Steve could make out girls wearing next to nothing walking around, a couple standing around a grainy figure that had to be Martin. Steve looked at Natasha.

“How’d -?”

“Credit card. Then he was there last night, but there’s footage missing from their tapes. About twenty minutes.”

Steve’s eyes swung back to Martin who was chatting with a blonde girl whose back was to the security camera.

“Why -?”

“This smells like Darcy Lewis, Steve,” Natasha said, and he rose a hand to rub his eyes. “She hasn’t exactly taken that stern warning to heart.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

-

He hadn’t been sleeping, which wasn’t anything new. At night he hoped he could find some way to fill the hours without thinking of her, but he always circled back to that night in the Lower East Side.

He decided to keep the appointment, their meeting at the mural. The air in the morning was chilled, and Steve could see the breath in front of his face.

He heard her crunching footsteps in the frosted grass and he spoke without turning his head to check she was there.

“Martin?”

“Hello to you, too, Steven,” she murmured. “I brought you donuts.”

He looked down, seeing the paper bag in her hand, plus the carry case for the two coffees she had in her other hand. He looked at her face, saw she was scrubbed clean of make-up, her skin glowing.

He took a coffee and a donut from the bag, a cinnamon one, and looked away.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They lapsed into silence, watching a woman with a small child walking through, the little boy holding a bouquet of flowers. Steve glanced away, blinking.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“You mean your very obvious accusation?” she asked, sipping her coffee. “I didn’t do that.”

“A man’s died, Darcy,” Steve said, unable to stop himself. He glared at her. “This isn’t like before.”

“Oh, another piece of shit dies, boo hoo,” she muttered. “And I didn’t kill him. He did that himself. I read the report. His secretary saw him jump.”

She turned her heel and he watched her stalk off, and he was forced to follow her.

“He had terabytes of kiddie porn, Steve,” she went on, her voice lowered. “I only heard about him through a contact, and I couldn’t let that go.”

“But that’s what – that’s what other people are for,” he said, grabbing her arm, making her stop, her eyes swinging to his. “And you said you’d stop.”

“I lied!” she snapped. “And what is the virtue of waiting for swift justice, Steve? What is the virtue of staying cool as a fucking cucumber?”

“There’s due process!” Steve yelled, and he saw her jump. He looked around, checking if anyone had heard his outburst. “We can’t act like this is the Wild West. You are _not _the law.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, alright?” she threw back. “You –”

“I don’t need this,” Steve said, holding up a hand. “I came to tell you that Natasha is on your tail again so you better be careful. Don’t start kickin’ hornet nests. I’m done.”

He turned his back on her, walking toward the nearest trash can and threw out the food, stalking off in the direction he came, hoping to God the blood would stop rushing soon, because he couldn’t function like this anymore, he didn’t know where to put all the anger.

“I have something!” Darcy yelled, and he froze, cursing himself for having less power.

She got under his skin.

He turned around, gritting his teeth.

“What?”

She took another sip of her coffee as she walked up, not taking her eyes off of him. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She wore little leather gloves.

“It’s something you won’t be able to forget, after I tell you,” she said, and Steve blinked, feeling his face slacken, the tension dissipating.

“What is it?”

“I mean it, I don’t think you’ll –”

“What?” he snapped, grabbing her arm. Darcy’s eyes widened a fraction, and she hesitated.

He didn’t know what other bad news she could possibly have. After so much death, what else could there be? He tried to read it on her face.

“I found Becca Barnes,” she whispered. “She’s alive.”

Steve hadn’t heard that name in years. She was Bucky’s kid sister, someone that was left behind eighty years ago, along with the rest of his family.

“I…”

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t think she’d ever possibly lie about something so specific. Sure, he didn’t trust Darcy, or he tried not to, but she had no reason to fabricate Bucky’s little sister being alive.

“Come home with me,” he said, and she blinked, confused.

“What?”

“We’ll talk there,” he added, and he turned again, walking back up the hill.

Darcy raced up beside him, following him back to his car.

-

Darcy pushed the picture toward him. It was a print out from a picture she’d found on Facebook.

“I didn’t mean to find her. She’s a distant cousin of Martin’s wife. The name Barnes kind of sticks out to me now,” she murmured. “I don’t mean to look for all the names, but I always do. I tend to dig. I like to find out if anyone’s not dusted.”

Steve knew what she meant. He’d done the same for months, trying to contact people he knew through the Avengers. He’d tried to find people like Erskine’s family when he first got out of the ice, after he fought the Chitauri in 2012.

“I think she thinks Bucky died a long time ago,” she went on. “She’s 92 now. She lives in Queens.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve whispered, seeing the second photograph, one of Bucky and Becca together when Becca was a little kid.

“Keep it,” Darcy said, and he took it, peering at the matching facial structure, the large eyes.

He only wished it was in colour, but then again, it might only haunt him. Bucky’s last word was his name.

“I have to tell her what happened,” he said, his throat tightening. “I mean, some version that won’t totally disturb her. She didn’t dust, but…”

“She doesn’t need to hear anything else disturbing,” Darcy said, and Steve nodded, relieved he didn’t have to explain.

“I can’t believe she’s alive,” he breathed. “I had years here and I didn’t…”

He passed a hand over his face. He felt Darcy’s hand cover his on the table, squeezing.

“You didn’t know. She went by her married name for years. She didn’t… reach out to you, either.”

“Maybe she couldn’t take it,” Steve whispered. “The… heartbreak.”

He sniffed, taking a deep breath.

“Thanks.”

Darcy shook her head. “It’s nothing. Maybe you can tell her about him being happy and safe in Wakanda.”

He looked at her, saw her eyes were filled with tears. He ducked his head, pressing his lips to hers, clutching her face. He deepened it, shifting get out of his seat, dropping to pick her up and carry her into the next room.

Darcy got out from under him and he thought maybe he’d taken it too far, but she returned with a condom, handing it to him before pulling down her jeans and lying back down on the bed.

He unwrapped it, smelling something sweet and artificial.

“Banana flavored,” she murmured, her lips quirking. “Didn’t have a lot of options at the pharmacy, but… I’m not having kids.”

“Right,” he said.

He didn’t want to pause to think. That tended to be the worst idea lately, so instead of stopping and asking her what she wanted from him - a question he’d asked himself about Darcy night after night since the first time he was with her – he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his slacks and underwear.

“Unless you come in my ass,” she added, and his eyes met hers, his face feeling hotter.

She was so honest. 

“No, I’ll… I won’t right now,” he managed to reply, looking away. He yanked off his shirt and Darcy did the same, her thighs falling open.

After he put on the condom, he knelt by the bed, pulling her toward him by the hips. He sucked on her clit, filling her with two fingers as he rubbed her clit in rough circles like he remembered she liked the last time. He watched her face, her eyes squeezed shut as she climbed up and up, until she crashed, and he pulled out of her, crawling up her to settle between her hips, wiping his mouth on the sheet beside her head before he kissed her again.

It felt so good when he sunk into her that it almost hurt. She was as tight as he remembered, but the memory, no matter how vivid his enhanced abilities allowed, was never quite enough.

He groaned, Darcy mimicking him, and he pulled back to slam into her.

“Fuck,” Darcy hissed.

“I know –”

“I don’t think you do,” she retorted, and he chuckled.

“I think I’ve got some idea, sweetheart,” he whispered.

The name slipped out, but now that it was there, he didn’t mind so much. She could have it, not that he expected her to want it.

He spilled into the condom after he rolled her onto her stomach and worked her over in long, hard strokes from behind, Darcy’s moans spurring him on, her hands fisting the sheets, her cunt squeezing him with everything she had.

He flopped down beside her, both of them panting, the world coming back. He could hear a distant siren, a dog barking in the street below. Darcy departed for the bathroom while he tied off the condom and tossed it out, and she returned, both of them staring at the ceiling in silence as they lay on their backs.

He turned on his side, looking down at her. Their eyes met.

“We can’t do that again,” he said, and Darcy’s brow lifted.

“You started it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)   
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	3. 3_8173 7H3 HAND 7H@ PH33D2 M3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy angst. That's all I got.

_Bite the hand that feeds me_  
_Bite the hand_  
_Bite the hand_  
_I can't love you like you want me to_  
**\- "Bite the Hand" by boygenius**  
  


**3_8173 7H3 HAND 7H@ PH33D2 M3**

The air inside the van was stale. They’d been sitting there for ten minutes, waiting. Waiting for any sign of life beyond the walls. From the cameras they’d set up, there was none, but this was a public road after all. Though it was 3AM, they had to be sure.

Darcy glanced at her accomplices after she had a long stare at the open road through the rear view mirror. She unbuckled her seat belt and nodded at the man in the driver’s seat that held a laptop, the only light inside the vehicle.

“Go. Go!” she hissed, and he clicked with the little mouse pad in the center and Darcy peeled off, the other man following her.

They were dressed alike, black hoodies, black boots and black cargo pants, but the man that dashed through the trees with Darcy was almost a foot taller than her. This was the fourth time she’d worked with them both and she knew she could trust them to some extent. It didn’t stop her from keeping their code names on her tongue instead of their birth names she managed to find after doing several background checks.

Their getaway driver’s name was Lex but he was born Arjun Chandra. He was from Queens and liked listening to The National on his free Spotify account. He bought the same pizza order every Friday night. He favored creampie porn the most, not that Darcy had been looking. His Internet history was mostly porn, the same two websites back and forth. Only occasionally did he research or hack other people, and he hadn’t tried to hack her, at least not on his personal computers at home.

Darcy reached the cement wall behind the oak tree, taking her spray paint from out of her backpack to toss to Churchill, birth name Isaac Gibbons. His porn tastes were vast but he was more likely to argue with other film snobs on Reddit than jerk off. He argued at length about the merits of _The Last Jedi_ and never ordered take out. He had a prescription for Klonopin but missed his last four of his seven appointments with his shrink in New Jersey.

Churchill reached up to spray the security camera lens to his left and then to its twin on his right before tossing the can back to Darcy for her to stash away, and then they both jumped for an indent in the cement wall to start climbing up.

Darcy felt sweat begin to break out on her back and she grunted, using all her strength to lift herself up and then grab the very edge of the wall. Churchill managed to get a leg over first and grabbed her elbow to pull her the rest of the way up and she met his gaze, nodding her thanks.

They only had a minute to reach the property and they spent twenty seconds already, so they wasted no more time and dropped to the ground on the other side, turning their backs and reversing toward the house, their hoods up.

“Thirty seconds,” Lex said in Darcy’s ear and she moved a little quicker.

The mansion was all glass walls and stone columns. It was quite small for its value – around 14 million, and the surrounding grounds were looking a little worse for wear. No-one had been to the property in three weeks.

Darcy’s heel hit the front door step and she spun around, spray paint aloft once more as she sprayed the camera in the middle of the massive double doors. She tossed Churchill the can as she took out her tablet to start unlocking the doors. Her companion sprayed the remaining cameras hidden in the entryway as Darcy opened up the security reboot program she hacked earlier.

“Power back in three, two… one,” Lex said, and Darcy heard the beep inside of an alarm system coming back on and she glanced at Churchill, who was waiting for something to do.

“Cutting and pasting,” Darcy replied.

“Why don’t people ever change their default passwords?” Churchill asked.

He’d said this every time they’d gone to a house that month. Darcy never replied to his question, since it seemed rhetorical. For the most part, rich people were pretty naïve.

She put in the password and remote unlocked the front door, moving to open the door and step inside. She took out her phone and put on the flash to look around. From what she studied of the floor plans, this family hadn’t changed a lot of the layout, so she moved through the house with familiarity while Churchill followed her.

She’d already switched off the cameras but he sprayed each one she pointed out to him. Each room had furniture covered in plastic, and there was a layer of dust to everything. As she glanced up at the chandelier there was a scratching sound behind her and she spun around as Churchill yelled out.

“Jesus Christ! Fucking rat!”

Darcy only managed to see a flash of the creature, but she knew it was larger than normal. She glanced at Churchill, her light on his chin.

“That fucker’s bigger than my cat,” he hissed, shuddering.

Darcy knew he didn’t have a cat. It must have dusted. She looked away, moving toward the doorway. She’d dealt with worse things lately, so rats weren’t about to deter her. She could hear Churchill muttering behind her in disgust as they went up the long staircase to the second floor and into the office.

She sat down at the computer and switched it on, putting her phone away as the glow of the screen was enough for her, while Churchill looked around in the filing cabinet. Despite its size and its reinforced lock, it was open.

“Lex,” she murmured.

“No-one around. It’s been three minutes,” he replied.

She didn’t want to be there any longer than five if they could help it. She began to type the password the second the log in screen appeared, and thankfully the computer was faster than the last three they’d come across. Each of the houses were empty and not everyone had sophisticated software. Old money didn’t have to worry about understanding technology. They usually paid other people to do that. She looked over at Churchill, whose rifling hadn’t seemed to warrant any verbal quips.

“Open this drawer,” she said, and he looked at her as she scooted over in the chair, his eyes dropping to the locked drawer beside her hip.

He moved away from the cabinet and crouched beside her, taking out a couple metal tools from his pocket and began to pick the lock while Darcy’s eyes darted to the screen, her mouse scrolling. The emails were already logged in for easy access. She had seen all of these already, but she was looking for something else, opening up another drive, scanning it with her eyes as Churchill opened the drawer.

“Shit, you’re not gonna believe –”

She looked down and saw Churchill take out a stack of credit cards and passports, grinning at her.

“Fucking bingo. Finally.”

Darcy took them, opening each passport. Same photographs, different names and ages. She shoved them away in her backpack and glanced at her phone for time.

“Go. I’ll catch up.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, and Darcy took out another gadget and fastened it to the inside of the locked drawer before shutting it again. She tested the handle and saw it was secure before she shut down the computer and jogged out. She got past the front door when she saw Churchill in the distance, running toward the wall.

A minute later, she was in the van again, and Lex took off with a squeal of the wheels. She opened her tablet again, while Churchill leaned over the back of her chair to look at her screen.

“You in?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, beginning to scroll through the cache. Old money paid for someone to hide a bunch of files, by the looks of it. “I think that’s it.”

She sat back as Lex drove. Darcy was going to be wide-awake for days with this.

-

Steve formed a habit of holding onto the burner phone Darcy gave him without actually turning it on. He’d charged it for weeks, picked it up and never used it.

He thought of Bucky more than ever. He thought of him always, but the phone and knowing Becca was alive made memories of his oldest friend resurface nearly constantly. He could picture him leaning against the phone that sat in the hallway of the tenement he lived in, his eyes on the floor as he chatted away, murmuring to girls over hours at a time, much to the annoyance of his neighbors. Bucky invested so much time into his phone calls that it became this running joke – he dated girls and he dated the phone in the hall.

Darcy had passed on Becca’s details in a little plastic bag the phone came in. Becca Barnes’ hospital visit from a few weeks ago for a broken toe was easy enough to find. According to Darcy, hospital operating systems were out of date and very easy to hack. This didn’t comfort Steve at all, but Darcy claimed she’d only used this fault in an already unreliable system.

He hadn’t gone to find Becca yet because he hadn’t thought of what to say. It was easier to comfort strangers at the group therapy sessions he held three times a week. He bumped up his volunteering so he was busier, the same way that Natasha hadn’t left the compound in weeks. He still visited her, still tried to coax her to come out to the city, to have dinner, to engage with him.

He wasn’t able to convince her to leave to come celebrate the New Year. He knew why she couldn’t do it – it was simply too painful, the two of them, remembering what things used to be like. So for the entire duration of the holidays, Steve was alone.

He finally turned the burner phone on the first snow of the New Year. He was reminded of the chilblains he used to get when he was younger, before the serum, and how each winter was miserable but Bucky made it better, and so did Becca whenever Steve came by to visit Bucky’s family.

He didn’t see any messages from Darcy. He was glad in a way. He realized then that he’d been expecting them and shouldn’t have. She had a life outside of their bizarre coupling.

He didn’t know what to call it. It wasn’t exactly like anything he’d had with someone before, but there were elements of the Avengers days in their dynamics. She was so stubborn, and so guarded, and yet so honest with him it made his stomach twist when he thought of her.

He saw there was one phone number under the contacts list, but no name to accompany it. He pressed the call button and put it to his ear, waiting.

It took several rings before she picked up. It occurred to him that he should have prepared something to say, because now there was a silence between them and their breathing.

He swallowed, glancing out the window.

“How are you?”

“You want me to come with you?” she asked.

He didn’t think he ever would be ready, but there were no choices to be made anymore. He didn’t know how she knew – either through watching him or just by knowing how he’d behave while she left him alone, but she knew he hadn’t seen Becca yet.

“Yeah,” he said. “Today.”

“Okay. I’ll come meet you on her street in an hour.”

She clicked off and he stared at the phone, feeling his stomach churn.

-

Darcy looked the same, except she wore a pair of thick gloves and a scarf to match her beanie from the last time he saw her. She was shivering when she pushed off from the gate she leaned against in the street, her breath in front of her face like Steve’s was.

“She’s on the third floor,” she said, instead of hello, instead of some smug little dig he half expected of her.

He needed her. He looked at her instead of averting his gaze, setting his jaw as he nodded. He memorized the address like everything else. Becca’s health was exceptional for her age. She showed no signs of Alzheimer’s, though there was a family history. She had her grown up daughter called Joanne as her next of kin. She was a widow for more than fifteen years.

They walked up to the front door together and Steve pressed the intercom. There was no answer, but there was the distinct buzz of the door as they were let in anyway. They took the elevator and Steve watched Darcy watching him the entire short trip up. They said nothing, but it was clear that she was deciphering him as he tried to do the same to her.

He stepped out into the hallway and walked with Darcy to the front door, raising his hand to knock. They waited for a minute before there was the sound of locks clicking and the chain being unlatched. The door opened and Steve looked down at the person in front of him, seeing a large pair of glasses on a small face, the eyes large and as blue as Bucky’s.

“Oh, my goodness,” Becca breathed, and she covered her mouth with her little hand. “Is that -?”

“Hey, Becca,” Steve whispered, and she dropped her hand, reaching for him to grip him in a hug.

She smelt and felt like an older lady, but she still sounded like the kid he left behind all those years ago. She pulled back, cupping his face with one of her hands, her eyes shining.

“Steve, oh, Steve…”

She looked at Darcy, blinking at her.

“I’m – I’m so sorry, are you my brother’s -?”

Steve wondered what on Earth Becca assumed Darcy was to Bucky, considering they both had brown hair and blue eyes. When he thought about it before, without really meaning to, he knew Bucky would have liked Darcy a lot – probably would have loved her. But in what way, he didn’t know.

“I’m no-one,” Darcy said. “I volunteer at the hospital sometimes.”

She didn’t offer her name so Steve didn’t either, and he was too preoccupied with Becca anyway, her hand clasping his to lead him inside her apartment.

He was met with a picture of Bucky in his service uniform on the mantelpiece, along with all the photographs of an extended family his friend would never meet. Nephews and nieces and so many children, so many smiles and memories that he’d never learn about. Becca told them to sit and she left to make them coffee. Steve was too overwhelmed to offer much help, sitting with his hands on his knees with Darcy beside him.

Becca came back with coffee and cookies on a tray, placing it on the table in front of them, before she sat down in the armchair beside the couch, and Steve took her hand in his again.

“How old have you gotta be now, Steve?” she asked, and he felt himself smile a little despite how his throat thickened. “Over a hundred.”

“Yeah, there abouts,” he murmured.

No-one touched the food but Darcy picked up a cup to sip coffee, not saying a word.

“I came because I didn’t know you were…” Steve began, ducking his head for a second to gather himself. “I thought you were dead.”

Becca nodded, pressing her lips together. “I didn’t know how I was meant to talk to you, when I heard you’d come back. For a while, I was angry.”

Steve nodded. “I’m sorry for showing up like this.”

“Don’t,” she said, patting his hand. “It’s not your fault you want to say hello, or… or goodbye.”

Steve felt his eyes begin to sting and he cleared his throat. Darcy shifted in her seat and he watched her get up.

“I’m going to get some fresh air. I’ll be outside,” she said to Becca, who nodded at her, saying nothing.

When they were alone again, the front door shut, Becca let out a shaky breath.

“Is she my great-niece?” she whispered, and Steve shook his head.

“No, she’s…. she’s a friend,” he said. “She told me you were alive. I took a while to get here, because I’ve got a lot to explain.”

“Well, I heard about you being in the ice,” she said, her eyes widening slightly. “And I saw you in the news reels, but in _person_ – God, Steve, you’re the same, except…”

“Except different,” he murmured.

He hadn’t seen her post-serum before today. He’d managed to get used to it, over years and years of training his brain to recognize the man he saw in the mirror.

“Yeah.”

There was a beat and he waited for her to ask, to ask devastating questions.

“What was he like, the day he died?” she murmured.

He felt a tear spill over and he wiped at it automatically.

“Focused. Best damn sniper I’ve ever seen, and that’s sayin’ somethin’,” he murmured, chuckling a little. “And we were after these guys, and –”

He didn’t think he could say it, how he watched him fall from the train. He’d seen it enough in his dreams for years and years, and he knew it would never truly go away.

“He was happy?”

“Yeah,” he said. The version of Bucky moments before he fell was happy. Determined and loyal, and very happy to be by his side no matter what. To the end of the line.

The Wakanda version, too. It was the truth, he’d been doing so much better since he left the country. A semi-stable hundred year-old man.

He saw Bucky disintegrating before his eyes, blinking it away as Becca let go of his hand to offer him a cookie.

“Nah, I’m okay, thank you,” he rasped. He looked at her, seeing she was smiling with tears in her eyes. “I’m glad I finally hauled my ass over here. Sorry it took so long.”

She gave a little shrug of her shoulder.

“Tell me about you,” he said.

-

Darcy was waiting for him against the gate like before, glancing his way when he approached her. He’d been with Becca for more than an hour, just talking, and as far as he knew Darcy had waited the entire time.

“You wanna get a cup of coffee?” he asked, and her brows hiked as she pushed off from the gate, falling into step beside him.

She didn’t agree to it, but she didn’t deny him either, walking to a diner a couple streets away. She sat opposite him in a booth while he ate a slice of pie with ice cream while she stuck to her black coffee.

“You sure you don’t want somethin’?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“What did you end up telling her?” she asked instead of answering him.

He swallowed his mouthful, drawing in a deep breath.

“Told her he died happy,” he murmured on exhale. “The 1940’s version. I know it’s a lie –”

“But it’s a good lie,” Darcy murmured, and he nodded.

She tipped her cup back to drink, unblinking. She set it back down again and regarded him, then let her eyes travel over the half empty diner.

“I’m going out of town for a while,” she said.

Their eyes met again and Steve frowned.

“This anythin’ to do with somethin’ Nat’s gonna tell me the second you leave?” he muttered.

He felt an anger rise up inside him, and he wondered why he ever expected her to act any other way. He wanted to reach out and grab her hand, make her understand she was in real danger, that he cared about her, and that should mean something.

He wanted to be selfish.

“I found something.”

“You… _found_ something?” he repeated, and she nodded once.

He pushed his plate aside, leaning forward so their heads were closer, and Darcy kept still, watching him with sharp eyes.

“Those accounts in the Cayman Islands that that pedophile brotherhood had,” she whispered, and Steve felt dread seep further into his stomach. “Martin told me ‘Weronika’, and at first I thought it was a place, like a bank in Poland or somewhere else.”

She grinned at him.

“It’s a _place_, but it’s a hotel in Switzerland,” she whispered.

“You’re going to Switzerland? Why?” he asked, and she shook her head.

She’d said more than she probably wanted to initially, but she couldn’t seem to contain her excitement.

“It’s not Bezos money, but it’s the next best thing,” she said, and she finally leaned back, waiting for him to say something else.

Instead, he took out his wallet and threw down a few notes, more than enough to cover them both and he slipped out of the booth, grabbing his jacket along the way. He walked out into the afternoon air, the snow coming down as he heard Darcy follow him, could feel her moving up beside him.

“You’re not gonna say goodbye?”

“Why, what good has any of this ever done before?” he retorted, and he hated how hurt he sounded.

“Steve –”

He turned around, and she walked into him then, her hand coming up to press against his chest to steady herself, her eyes a little wider as he glared down at her.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, and she swallowed. “I know SHIELD is hypocritical, I know I am, too –”

“You can’t spell ‘patriot’ without ‘riot’,” she said, attempting a joke, but he shook his head at her, not missing a breath.

“Clint’s out there on a killin’ spree and I used to be on America’s Most Wanted. You know everything. So what do _I _get to know?”

She drew back finally, blinking rapidly. He hadn’t expected that. He thought maybe he’d slap her and run the other direction. She looked like she’d taken a blow to the stomach, stepping back to the curb. She seemed to catch her breath, biting her lip hard as she screwed her face up before covering it with a gloved hand.

He waited, people weaving past them in the street as the snow fell. He clenched his jaw, remembering Bucky throwing a snowball at him when they were teenagers, racing home from school. It was Bucky’s birthday, the last snow of the season.

“We don’t move on,” he said, and Darcy took her hand away, staring at him. “I tell people what to do, where to bury their grief. I lie all the time. But we don’t move on.”

He meant Nat as well as Darcy. He licked his lips, shaking his head a little.

“I can’t stop you.”

She shook her head. He extended his hand to her and she took it, and she let him walk her back to his car. She let him drive her all the way back to his apartment.

The sex was good. It always was, even when he felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself, even when he cried.

It was the first time he fucked her without closing his eyes once, like he _had to_ look at her. They managed to get to his couch, clothes thrown aside, legs tangling together. It was rushed and he was never gentle. He took what he wanted from her, he took until she cried out, wet and tight around him, her eyes slamming shut as he watched her come beneath him.

He took her in deep, sharp strokes as she clawed at his back. He felt like an animal, fucking her without remorse, edging closer and closer, feeling the tug beneath his navel, his thighs beginning to shake.

He’d denied it, but he knew it anyway, that what he wanted from her – and he’d denied for weeks that he wanted anything from her at all – he couldn’t have. It was impossible. She couldn’t heal him, and he couldn’t heal her.

But he’d take this from her, at least, this part of her.

He fucked her until she cried out again, his thumb on her clit as she clenched, both of them sweaty, nearing the limit, and then he pulled out of her, spilling on her stomach, both of them panting and groaning.

He half fell on her, pressing his forehead to hers as his breathing slowed, as the world came back. For those three seconds before, he felt like he was floating, like he was nothing.

God, if only he was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)   
[my Tumblr](http://vibranium.tumblr.com/)


	4. 4_900D8Y3 5TR4NG3R

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels so odd to come back to this, with everything going on in the world. I hope you are well, and you are staying safe. Remember it is "physical distance" not necessarily "social distance". Make sure you are still communicating with the people around you in other ways. Be kind to yourself.

_Don't go, gotta know_  
_Please don't run away_  
_I'm a murderer_  
_What does that change?_  
_Can't sleep_  
**\- "ii. no exit" by Childish Gambino**

_You'll be doing me right_  
_I'm your girl in your light_  
_When I'm holding you down_  
_You be picking a fight_  
_You've got a goddamn nerve_  
**\- "In Time" by FKA twigs**

**4_900D8Y3 5TR4NG3R**

When Steve woke, for the first time ever since knowing Darcy, he saw her asleep. Before that morning, she’d only ever been awake around him.

As bad as he slept, she seemed to sleep even less. He woke facing her bare back around dawn. He could see the blueish glow to the apartment as he took in his surroundings. He woke the same way every morning, with his thoughts full of some dream he couldn’t remember, the edges of it too little for him to recollect precise details.

He remembered her staying the night, getting food down the street. He was certain she’d slip out while he was gone, but he found her in his bed with her knees drawn up and staring at the wall. When she met his gaze she seemed to snap out of it enough to take in the pizza he brought back.

Staring at the lines of her, the angles and curves, he wondered how much longer she’d humor him. She hadn’t divulged anymore of her plan for Switzerland, and he wasn’t going to push her, since it was a waste of time.

He reached out, his fingers feather-light over her arm and side, down her waist to her hip. Her heard her sigh and stir awake, rolling onto her stomach so her face was in the pillow, groaning softly as the world came back to her. She stretched a little, turning her head and peeking out from the long curtain of her hair.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoed.

He wondered what she’d do if he asked her to stay, if he told her the truth. She might get angry, or worse, take pity on him and then leave without a trace. He knew she had a tendency to run away. He had no idea still where she went when she left him alone again. She always carried bags of supplies for every day. She sat up, the blankets falling aside to expose her nakedness as she moved toward her bag to grab her phone and check it. She shoved it back away and looked at him, her hand running through her messy hair.

It came again, the warmth that bloomed in his chest and stomach, his body acting before he could think it through. He put one hand behind his head, watching her in turn.

She began to crawl back, and Steve saw her shiver, the chill of the apartment finally reaching her. He knew he kept her warm at night. She reached him and leaned over, her hair creating a little enclosure for them.

She was so soft, and warm for the most part, when he cupped her jaw, his fingers deep in her hair. Their noses brushed and he lifted up to press his mouth to hers in a slow peck. He felt her hands come down to touch either side of his face and he deepened the kiss and she sighed, the sound going straight to his cock which had been stirring with curiosity since he woke.

He used his other hand to tug the blanket down and Darcy slipped back under into the warmth, their legs tangling as they pushed back and forth. Each time she tried pulling away he chased her back, until she pressed her forehead to his and shook her head, a weak little laugh ebbing from her reddened lips.

“My breath stinks,” she whispered.

“I don’t mind,” he replied, and she pulled back a little further, propping her elbow on his pillow beside his head.

“Yours does, too.”

He figured that, too, but he still shut his mouth for a brief, self-conscious second. Darcy ran a hand down his face, smirking a little at his reaction. He sat up then and got out of bed, grabbing his underwear from last night to pull back on as he walked across the room to the kitchen nook on the other side of the apartment.

He put on a pot of coffee and returned with two cups full with the fresh brew, handing Darcy one as he sipped the other.

“You wanna stay a little longer?” he asked, getting back into bed.

“If you’ll let me.”

He didn’t reply to that and sipped more coffee. Darcy was looking at the ceiling and for the dozenth time since he first saw her yesterday outside Becca’s apartment building, he wondered what she was thinking.

He put his cup aside like Darcy had, lying on his side as he watched her. She seemed present enough, her eyes dry.

“Where were you?” he murmured, and her eyes swung to his, blinking a couple times.

He didn’t need to elaborate. She seemed to understand, swallowing.

“When people dusted? I was outside with Jane. The sky was so blue that day.”

Something passed over her face and she took a deep breath.

“Growing up, I had my foster family. I didn’t have parents to lose, but Jane was like a sister to me. She said she didn’t feel well, and then she just –”

She waved her hand, letting it drop back to the blankets with a soft thud.

Her eyes had deadened a little as she stared up at the ceiling for several seconds before she added:

“You were in Wakanda.”

“Yeah,” he breathed.

He didn’t know why he was bringing this up now when he could have weeks ago. He could have asked her the night they met, in that alley with her knife to his throat. Doing this now seemed like a bad idea, though he couldn’t get the question off his mind. He thought about it constantly, with everyone new he met, but especially with her.

He didn’t add to the story. He wasn’t going to apologize or try to justify just how badly things went. He had no excuses. No rhyme or reason, either.

“Time drags,” Darcy said, her voice sudden to Steve as he was still picturing Bucky falling to his knees and disintegrating. “And then life is so fucking short, too. I can’t get a hold on it.”

She turned over to face him, a small smile forming.

“Do you think we could’ve –?”

“Before?” Steve murmured. “Liked each other?”

“Among other things,” Darcy whispered.

Steve smiled a little, shaking his head slowly. “No.”

They both chuckled, but it sounded sad to him, resigned.

“You wouldn’t’ve liked me,” he whispered.

Darcy pressed her lips together and he could see that her eyes had finally misted and he moved closer to her, knowing what else to do but improvise, which had never been his strong suit.

He slanted his mouth over hers, pulling her under him as their hands were everywhere, pulling down his underwear before he kicked them away under the covers. His kisses peppered her face and neck, teeth grazing as she whispered in his ear:

“None of that gentle shit. Don’t do that to me…”

She hissed when he sunk into her, and it spurred him on, hips fast and hard. She trembled in his arms as they panted together, her eyes hooded with her mouth slack.

“Steve – _Steve_…”

He drew back a little, tried to come back from the mindless rutting she inspired in him, because every time she seemed to crack him wide open. He stared deep in her eyes as he worked her over, his thumb pressing to her clit as she tightened and shivered.

This seemed to be the only thing he was good for. He had the vague thought that he had to see his group today much later, sitting in a circle as he lied for an hour. He would think of her then, and he’d think of her when he was trying to sleep tonight.

He slowed down, ignoring her warning. He wanted to cradle her and blame it on his sentimental old heart, though broken, was somehow still betraying him daily.

They made soft little moans together as he drew it out of her gradually, her eyes fluttering shut as she turned pink all over. He followed her, slipping out to spill into his fist at the last second.

He fell back onto his back, covering his eyes with his spare hand, feeling a sob bubble up and he bit his lip hard, a shuddering breath escaping.

He kept his eyes firmly shut as he felt Darcy move around, grabbing tissues and mopping his hand for him, leaving him to use the bathroom. The mattress dipped once more as she returned and his breathing had returned to normal but his heart still raced.

“That was a little mean,” she said, curling up against him.

It was another first. She usually didn’t like to cuddle. He put his hand down, sighing.

“Sorry.”

He must have fallen asleep because he was blinking back to reality with his mouth feeling dry, his chest aching as the sun was peeking through the blinds above his bed. Darcy was dressed and lying beside him, watching him awaken.

“You leavin’?” he mumbled, and she nodded.

He felt bruised all over. He’d slept more than usual, and his body wasn’t used to it. He saw her duck her gaze.

“I need to borrow some money.”

“For a cab?”

“No, I need twenty thousand,” she said, and she glanced up again.

He realized then that she was embarrassed.

“I know you have 1.3 million in a savings account. And more than enough elsewhere. I’ll give it back as soon as I can,” she said. This sounded rehearsed.

Steve’s lips parted and he frowned.

“Is that why you stayed? For the money?”

He felt his guts twist, some thought behind the rage that bubbled up inside begging him to not ask her a question he didn’t want answered.

“Don’t lie to me,” he added, his voice like ice.

“No, I didn’t fuck you to get money out of you,” she replied, her brow creasing. “Is that what you think of me? I could have stolen it from you easily enough. I could have skimmed it off what I’ve already taken from the pedophile ring.”

He swallowed, knowing he’d fucked up, since it was so obvious that she didn’t see it as her own money, what she’d stolen. She dressed like shit most of the time. She always seemed hungry. She gave everything away, all the time.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she seemed to soften a little at his terse, short apology. “I’m sorry for assuming you were using me, too.”

“Aren’t we using each other, though?” she whispered.

“I guess so,” he said. That’s all he could think of to say.

She rolled away, getting up. He sat up in bed, watching her crouch and pick up her bag. A second later she was sweeping her hair out of her face and tying it up in a ponytail. She looked tired, but still so beautiful. She looked younger, and vulnerable.

“Do you need the money today?” he asked, and she looked at him, nodding.

“Yes. Please.”

He opened his drawer by his bed and pulled on fresh underwear, took his phone from his nightstand and walked over to her, opening his banking app.

He didn’t bother pretending he had any privacy and handed his phone to her and watched as she punched in some numbers before giving it back to him.

Then she took him by the chin and kissed him.

It caught him off-guard. He hadn’t expected the heat of it, how he felt himself stirring back to life, among the misery that had already returned, knowing she was going again so soon.

“Please be careful,” he whispered.

He knew it was hypocritical of him. He used to jump out of planes without a parachute, but he wasn’t that man anymore, and their roles had reversed. She was the one possibly throwing her life away.

Should he say it? He paused, their lips bumping in between kisses, the familiar taste of her still on his tongue.

“Bye,” he whispered, and she nodded.

One last kiss, and then she spun around, her bag hanging from one shoulder. He heard the front door shut as he stared at the floor.

He put his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)   
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	5. 5_1N73RLUD3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty blatant rip-off of Fincher's Dragon Tattoo but at least I admit it

_Come on if you think_  
_Come on if you think_  
_You can take us on_  
_You can take us on_  
_You and whose army?_  
_You and your cronies_  
_You forget so easily_

**_\- _"You And Whose Army?" by Radiohead**

**5_1N73RLUD3**

The flight from JFK Airport to Zurich was eight hours. A tall blonde woman wearing a belted caramel jacquard coat announced her arrival to the concierge at Hotel Weronika. Her passport was taken as confirmation.

Elizabeth Warner was staying for two nights. The bellboy took her suitcases up to her room and she gave him a generous tip, curling her lip at him as he bowed and left her alone.

Left alone, Darcy took off the wig and set it on the little table by the window. The room was costing her the most, apart from the ticket to get over to Switzerland in the first place. Since the Snap, the cost of flights skyrocketed and only the very wealthy were able to travel like she was.

The passports she had made, along with the credit cards to accompany the purchases she made for this trip, were given to her at a discounted rate because of her various connections.

She took out the cubic zirconia earrings and the delicate necklace that matched and placed them beside the wig. She stripped off her clothes and kicked off her platform shoes that were concealed beneath the long, sleek trousers she wore. She made herself taller to be Elizabeth. She wore her little black leather gloves as she took herself apart, down to her underwear and stockings, pulling off the binder that minimized her chest. She needed to blend in, and her natural tits were likely to draw too much attention.

In the mirror, she examined her makeup, a softer style that resembled a bridal look. The lipstick was pinker and paler than her usual taste, and her eye makeup was subtle.

The night was sleepless. She ordered a fried egg and toast for breakfast the following morning and triple-checked the meeting time.

At nine-thirty she made the short trip across the street to the bank, meeting one of the many consultants the hard drive Darcy hacked recently featured.

Elizabeth Warner wore head-to-toe Chanel, her gloved hand pushing her wispy bangs out of her eyes as she took of her sunglasses when she slipped into the chair opposite her consultant Hartmann. He regarded her in a certain coldness reserved for women that were deemed too useless to understand the mechanics of money laundering. He probably thought Elizabeth had screwed her way into this situation when she told him exactly what she wanted – to convert the savings of thirty-seven accounts into bonds.

Sugar baby or not, Elizabeth left the bank with a full profile safely tucked in her handbag, returning to the hotel to nap and watch a news channel that was showing more politicians exposed in the pedophile ring exposed when Luke Martin committed suicide last year.

Darcy drank a can of Coke as the TV anchor stared back at her delivering the news:

_“Senator Thompson firmly denies any affiliation with the group and continues to slam reporters for this so-called ‘witch hunt’, even though dozens of other names in the leak have been connected to the circulation of child pornography.”_

It cut to footage of Senator Thompson, a man in his forties with ex-football star good looks and smile lines, whose face was stone as he spoke into a microphone outside his house during a press conference.

“_I am co-operating with police, but I have nothing to hide. I hope that the press can give my family the privacy we deserve. Haven’t we all been through enough these last few years?”_

Darcy immediately reached for her phone as the screen cut back to the anchor and moved onto the next story. She opened the chat app on her phone for her network and began to type.

** _There has to be more than enough to convict Thompson_ **

Several messages fired back, asking Darcy how she was.

** _He has kids. He has to go_ **

She went to bed half an hour later but didn’t sleep much better than the previous night.

The following morning she applied more makeup, a wash of color on her cheeks with champagne eyeshadow and pale pink lipstick and fluttery false lashes.

Elizabeth Warner took a taxi to Bank of Killian-Lutten several blocks away and met with a consultant much older than Hartmann yesterday. His name was Janssen and was overwhelmed by Elizabeth’s request to convert her bonds into eight separate accounts. He took out his calculator and began to punch in the figures as Elizabeth watched, her gloved hands in her lap as she smiled pleasantly.

“You wish to place these into eight accounts?” he repeated. He showed her a sum on his calculator and she nodded.

She left the bank and retrieved her belongings from the hotel to check out and took another taxi to the train station. In the ladies’ bathroom she shed her coat and replaced her high heeled shoes for a pair of combat boots. Her Chanel wouldn’t do well on the trains she planned to take north, so swapping it around for a grey second hand trench coat came naturally. She wiped off the lipstick and threw her jewelry in the trashcan outside the bathrooms.

Elizabeth Warner stepped on the train in Zurich and Darcy Lewis stepped off in Amsterdam nine hours later. Somewhere in between, the blonde wig was thrown out the window and landed in a green pasture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)   
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	6. 6_4 4MER1C4N 1N P4R12

_Une météorite m'a transpercé le cœur_  
_Vous, sur la terre, vous avez des docteurs_  
**\- "Contact" by Brigitte Bardot**  
  


_I'm only good at being bad, bad_  
_I like when you get mad_  
_I guess I'm pretty glad that you're alone_ **  
\- "bad guy" by Billie Eilish**

**6_4 4MER1C4N 1N P4R12**

Steve raced around another corner, his head down, feet pounding the pavement. It was his fifth lap of the neighborhood. He’d do another five before he considered stopping. It was easier to run nowadays, since the snow had melted and the pavement was no longer icy.

He was running earlier in the day than usual. He knew it was his useless attempt at shaking off the dream he had. He hadn’t had the dream in a few months, and it was long due. He had it more when he was first overseas after Erskine gave him the serum. The dream was always the same, like all Steve’s dreams. Nothing ever changed, even when he was blatantly aware of the scenario being a dream. He was aware of people lucid dreaming, the act of trying to push their conscious decisions into the dream scenarios, but even knowing it was a dream never changed it for Steve.

Colonel Philips would yell at Steve it was time to get up, it was time for him to go to battle as Captain America, but then Steve would look down and see that he was back to his sickly former self. He’d be wearing a suit too big for him, carrying the shield that was too heavy for him, Phillips forcing him out into an open battlefield.

Steve would wake the same way every time, his sheets soaked through with sweat with his heart racing. He could smell the mud. He could hear the rapid gunshots. He could hear the screams of dying soldiers. He’d put his shaking hands over his face and try to remember where he was, and what had happened.

He dodged out of the way of a man walking along the street as he drew on a cigarette, his eyes widening in fright as he saw how fast Steve was moving – when he felt his phone begin to buzz in his pocket. He slowed to a stop beside an overflowing trashcan and thought better of it, walking until he was several feet further away until he pulled his phone out to see the number.

It was Nat. He considered ignoring it, like always. He hardly ever picked it up the first time, simply because he wasn’t in a talkative mood unless he had time to prepare. He used to not be like this. He’d make friends easily, wherever he went. He didn’t have to think why it was harder to be friendly now…

He answered because Nat hadn’t spoken to him in a few weeks. They played half-hearted tag and Steve didn’t leave messages, just missed calls, and his texts to Nat were responsive, but he never initiated a conversation. He knew it was a cowardly move on his part, but he knew she was keeping herself busy, too.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, I need you to come over sometime,” she said. There was a pause. “How – how are you?”

She meant to say that part first, Steve realized, but she had her SHIELD M.O. at the forefront of her mind. Steve bit his lip.

“I’m alright, what about you?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m…”

She didn’t really answer. It was hard to not talk about the same shit all the time. Steve had realized this months ago, when he was still seeing her every second day.

“I’ll come by tonight,” he said.

They hung up a few moments later, after he promised to bring pizza. He could feel the dread already overtaking him. He hadn’t heard from Darcy for over a month, but the 20,000 he loaned her had reappeared under an unknown account three days after she left his apartment.

He could recall the moment the news broke the morning his money returned:

_“Since the Blip two years ago, there has been a power vacuum in the wider crime syndicates of North America and Europe. Pictured here in Zurich was one of Martin’s accomplices who withdrew from a number of accounts.”_

He was flipping through the channels on his TV and paused long enough to catch a glimpse of the grainy news footage of a blonde woman standing at a hotel front desk, her sunglasses lowered for the concierge to inspect the ID photo she’d supplied them.

Seeing Darcy’s face – because it _was_ her, he knew those eyes anywhere, he saw them in his dreams, he searched for them without meaning to in the street and at group meetings – cauterized Steve’s gaping wound he passed off as natural concern for his fellow man.

-

He carried the pizza through the front doors, after punching in the code. He couldn’t hear any sounds coming from the communications room when he let himself in, but Nat was there with her feet up as per usual. It’s like she could never sit on a chair properly.

She seemed to have been waiting for him, her eyes on the door, her lips quirking when he walked in.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoed, putting down the pizza box. He sat on the chair facing hers and crossed his arms.

They hadn’t hugged in a while. He tried to remember the last time someone held him and he recalled it was Becca.

Nat scooted closer to the box and flipped it open. She liked red peppers on any slice she ordered. He recalled Sam without meaning to then, complaining about the lack of hot sauce he had when they were on the run years ago. They’d be sleeping on dirt floors and he would bring up the _beigeness_ of their last meal. It was a running joke, and Steve would always smile in the dark, hearing the same complaints from Sam on his one side, Nat’s soft chuckle on his other.

He didn’t pick up a slice, choosing to watch Nat take a first bite and study him like she always did. She’d try to lean into her questioning as subtle as she could manage, but he saw it coming from miles away these days.

“You hear from Darcy lately?” she asked, mumbling through a mouthful.

“Nah,” he muttered.

He said it quick enough, no hesitation. It wasn’t a lie. He met Nat’s eyes and watched her eat in silence for a few minutes until the slice was gone and she sucked her thumb.

“You heard about the money laundering in Switzerland.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“It makes it easier to do a crime like that among the chaos,” Nat went on. “Everyone’s focused on the child pornography scandal…”

She sat back, folding her arms.

“Crime’s gone up since last month. The entire upper echelon of the United States and most of Europe is in freefall.”

She got up and Steve watched her pull up a file above their heads. Several grainy photographs of Darcy appeared and he kept very still, hoping he hadn’t given anything away. It was the same series of photographs from Zurich.

“Darcy tell you anything about travel plans?”

“No,” he said, and a part of him didn’t care if his defiance was obvious.

He was becoming annoyed again, at the hypocrisy of everything. Politicians were scrambling, telling everyone everything was fine when nothing was fine. Nothing had been fine for years, even before Thanos, even before the Avengers disbanded. HYDRA had been in control for people’s whole lifetimes, and Steve was being told nothing was wrong?

“Interpol were asking about her,” Nat said. “Because she’s walking around Paris in broad daylight –”

“So she’s on vacation,” Steve cut in, gesturing to the photographs. “Nothing illegal about that.”

“I told Interpol she acted on my behalf,” Nat said.

Steve blinked at her, Nat’s words taking a second to sink in.

“What?”

“I told authorities that she’s acted on behalf of SHIELD. I didn’t say anything about the money, though I’m certain it won’t be long before people put two and two together. There’s no footage of Elizabeth Warner arriving in Amsterdam, but Darcy Lewis was seen drinking coffee beside the Herengracht last month.”

Nat glanced away, swiping the photographs away with her hand. She folded her arms once more.

“She’s been in Paris for six weeks,” she murmured. “I’m asking you to bring her back.”

“Send in some guys to arrest her,” Steve said. “I don’t do that shit anymore.”

He should leave. He didn’t want to argue with her, and he could feel the anger already rising up in him, with the urge to shout. Nat hadn’t done anything to deserve that.

“This will follow her forever,” Nat said, her voice a little louder. “I’m surprised she’s got this far.”

“She’d have people taking care of her,” Steve said, standing up. He drew in his chair. “You said she had her network, I’m sure she’ll disappear again –”

“She’s picking off her targets without a semblance of a fair trial,” Nat cut in.

“That sounds familiar to me,” Steve snapped.

He was of course referring to Clint. He was still out there, nationless, friendless and completely ruthless.

Nat drew herself up a little higher, her eyes wild.

“Don’t you _dare_,” she snarled. “Don’t you dare pass judgment on me."

Steve glared back at her, seeing tears of rage that began to well in her eyes.

The silence between them was heavy. Steve could feel he’d tensed his whole body the moment Nat first began to speak, and he only now finally let it go, his muscles aching.

“I’ve tried with Clint,” Nat whispered. She passed a hand over her face. “I’ve tried to get him to come back, but he won’t. Not for me.”

“I know,” Steve murmured. “I know you’ve tried, Nat.”

Nat went back to the desk, contemplated another slice before turning back, hands empty.

“She’s breaking the law, and it’s only a matter of time before someone else brings her down,” she said. “She’s taken… a lot of money.”

Steve sighed like a huff, shaking. “We’re talkin’ about _the law_. The laws of _nature_ don’t apply here.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“Thousands of planes falling out of the sky. Orphans. Famine. Forest fires out of control. Guy snaps his fingers and –”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. He clenched his jaw.

-

With the six hour time difference, Steve felt like it was mid-morning when it was well past lunch in Paris.

According to Nat’s reports, Darcy had been spending each day more or less the same. She’d leave her apartment late in the morning, go shopping or sight-seeing and arrive back in the afternoon via the bakery nearest to _Rue Saint-Dominique_.

Steve was sitting at a café on the corner, finishing his coffee when he saw a familiar figure in the distance to his left.

She was wearing a long paisley wrap dress and boots, her hair down and sweeping down her back.

He rose from his table, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he began to walk behind her.

She was carrying two baguettes in her arms, ripping hunks off of one of them to eat as she wandered on. It was a mild day with clear skies. Paris was in a similar state to New York, with the streets less crowded with tourists.

They were within walking distance of the Eiffel Tower, and Steve found himself wondering how many times she was there over the last several weeks. He wanted to know what it was like for her, living here, being somewhat anonymous to everyday people.

He adjusted his cap, eyes on the ground as he walked on.

Darcy stopped by a flower shop for several seconds, smelling something before ducking inside. She came back out with a bunch of white roses and kept walking. Steve had stopped to pretend he was reading something on his phone.

They reached her apartment building and Steve felt his stomach flip. That hadn’t happened in a while. It was excitement that caught him off-guard. He was excited to see her, to be close to where she’d been hiding.

He waited a minute downstairs before he walked inside the building, taking the steps two at a time as quiet as possible.

He reached her door, hand hovering to knock. Instead, he went to try the door knob, not expecting it to feel it turn with ease, unlocked.

He opened the door and stopped dead.

Darcy stood only a few feet from the doorway waiting for him, her eyes meeting his. For a few seconds, all they did was stare one another down, so much unsaid.

He was glad she was safe and in one piece. He was glad this wasn’t some rescue mission, but he knew this wasn’t about her, these feelings that began to claw at him all the way up his throat from his guts…

He kicked the door shut and surged toward her, taking hold of her waist and twisting back around. He pushed her into the door and hovered his mouth above hers, her hand coming up to push the cap off his head. The hat fell to the floor and Steve crushed his lips to hers, lifting her further up, Darcy’s thighs wrapping around his waist.

He wanted every part of her, his mouth moving from her lips and over her face and neck, their hands frantic as they grabbed at one another, breaths coming in pants. He felt inside her dress, pinching her nipple between his fingers as he kneaded her and bit the column of her neck, her gasps making his blood run hot, her fingers tugging his hair…

They were frantic, Steve’s hand slipping down from her waist to under her dress and up her bare thigh. He tugged her underwear hard enough that the seams tore as he yanked them down, while Darcy’s hands were at his belt buckle, not caring at all. In fact, her eyes seemed to flash with glee when he caught sight of them among the flurry of desperation.

They managed to get her underwear off her feet and Steve undid his jeans next, shoving everything past his thighs. They fumbled, until he was feeling between her legs with his fingers to check, and she was so warm, slick already...

Darcy’s back arched when he pushed inside her, holding onto her ass as he bottomed out. He kissed her again, filthy and swallowing her keening as he set a punishing pace.

His jeans fell down, pooling at his ankles as he knocked her into the door over and over, Darcy’s hand on his shoulder, the other gripping the wood of the door.

He was lost in the wet clutch of her body, racing toward the end, blinking blearily at her when he could hear she was nearing her own climax, her moans becoming louder.

Their mouths wouldn’t close as they panted and moaned, and Steve knew he was being louder, feeling so much, everything feverish and driven by pure need.

She came with a broken cry, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, Steve’s thumb pressing the side of her clit, grinding into her and keeping her trapped.

He pulled back, his sticky thumb brushing her cheek as he clasped her jaw and kissed her thoroughly, speeding his thrusts, breaking away only as he crumbled, groaning into Darcy’s neck, pulling out to come between them.

He saw spots, panting as the dissolved world came back into view. He moved his head away from her skin, their eyes meeting, both of them covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)   
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	7. 7_H3R032

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW and apologies for kicking you while you're down

_Who cares when it feels like crack?_  
_Boy you know that you always do it right_  
_Man, fuck your pride_  
**\- "Kiss It Better" by Rihanna**

_Lose that Cheshire Grin_  
_Take it like a man_  
_Keep what's yours_  
_Leave me mine_  
**\- "When A Woman Is Around" by Unloved**

**7_H3R032**

They separated, Darcy sliding down the door until her feet were back on the floor, and Steve took a step back, pulling his jeans back on.

Darcy walked past him, and Steve ran a hand through his hair, trying to catch his breath as he looked around at the apartment. He hadn’t been in one like this for over half a century. It had high ceilings, wooden floors and several balconies. When he glanced outside the window while he heard Darcy in the bathroom running the water, he could see the Eiffel Tower nearby.

He could picture a place in Italy he stayed in during the war, but it was teemed with men in muddy uniforms all scrambling for rations and letters from home. He glanced toward the sound of Darcy’s footsteps when she returned, looking a little less disheveled, but her cheeks were still pink and she smelt vaguely of their musk. He remembered coming on her dress, and long ago he would have felt ashamed for that but now it only made him feel possessive, in case fucking her into the door minutes ago hadn’t.

He didn’t know where to begin, staying quiet. He didn’t feel self-righteous, he was just relieved she wasn’t dead.

“Where are you staying?” she murmured.

“Couple blocks away,” he replied.

It was always like this, acting like they didn’t know one another, running toward each other and then breaking apart with bruises on their insides. Steve watched her move around, walking through to the little kitchen and opening the fridge.

“Nat sent me,” he said eventually, watching as she lifted a glass bottle of milk and took a gulp.

Darcy swallowed with a little sigh, eyes meeting his.

“I thought so,” she said. “You got cuffs on you somewhere? Hey, that’d be fun –”

She was only half-heartedly flirting with him. The sunny disposition he witnessed before when she was eating bread with the sun in her hair had vanished, and she glanced away, looking worn.

“I’m not here to arrest you,” he murmured. “She said Interpol’s asking after you, though.”

“I bet,” she said. “I saw Her Majesty’s Secret Service is sniffing around, too.”

Steve wasn’t surprised she was already miles ahead of everyone else. It was in her nature to be thinking that far in the future. He didn’t think she had the same strategy when it came to him, though. He was probably her one impulse.

And yet, if it was happening more frequently, didn’t it mean he’d become a habit?

“Nat’s told Interpol you’re working for her,” Steve said, folding his arms.

He heard the loud clunk of Darcy fumbling the milk bottle and she slammed the fridge a second later, glaring up at him. Steve blinked at her.

“And you were expecting me to come with you, because she saved my ass?” she said. She scoffed. “I always knew you people were entitled, even back when I was an intern and you took all of Jane’s stuff –”

“Right, you’re fine all by yourself,” Steve cut in. “Never have to rely on anyone –”

Darcy grinned but there was no warmth behind it.

“You’re exactly the same as me, Steve, and we both know it. And she knows it, too,” she said. “No-one thinks I can pull any of this shit off, but I have.”

Steve clenched his jaw, not moving from his spot, his eyes falling to the floor, a silence enveloping them. Steve could hear a bicycle bell outside, and the passing cars in the distance.

He hadn’t been to Paris before when it was peacetime. He wasn’t sure that’s what this was, anyway. An ordinary French citizen like the one he could hear whistling, the afternoon air carrying the sound up through the open windows of the apartment, probably wouldn’t know it any other way.

“I never doubted you,” he murmured, after what felt like an eternity.

Her eyes snapped to his, and he swallowed, shrugging his shoulders.

“I knew you’d take the money,” he went on. He let himself smile a little. “Made me feel – proud, I guess, that you’d done what you set out to do, even if it was robbing. I know those people don’t deserve any of it. They won’t see it that way, is all. So I thought I’d never see you again.”

“It was a nice way to say hello again,” Darcy replied, and Steve saw her smile, hesitantly at first before she showed her teeth properly.

“_Nice_,” he repeated, and she rolled her eyes.

“Better than nice, alright?” she muttered.

He reached for her hand and looked down at her fingers, feeling his chest grow tighter. He waited for her to push back against him, possibly insult him.

“We could pretend, you know,” she whispered, and he leveled her gaze, seeing that hesitancy again.

He rolled his lip between his teeth, waiting.

“We could pretend we’re here together for real,” she said.

He moved toward her finally, resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. He felt her arms wrap around his middle in a loose embrace, and he folded himself around her in return.

“We could,” he said.

They both stayed still for several moments, and Steve couldn’t help himself, he was reaching to stroke her hair, to kiss her crown.

He left her apartment to go collect his one bag from the dingy little place he’d left it at. He found himself rushing, dreading the very real possibility that Darcy would up and leave in the time that it took for him to come back. He burst into the apartment after he raced up the stairs, and dropped his back on the floor in the middle of the empty living room, his eyes searching, landing on her figure that stood beyond the veil of the curtains.

She turned on the balcony, alarmed by the sudden thump of his bag on the floorboards, and she leaned against the railing outside, the curtains flapping.

He strode out to her, taking hold of her face and cutting her off:

“That didn’t take long –”

He picked her up, walking them back inside.

-

The second time that day was slower but there was still that urgency he couldn’t shake, like he needed to feel her everywhere to remember she was really there, that he wasn’t going to wake up on the plane or back in his Brooklyn apartment all alone.

-

The third time, he gathered her in his lap, both of them shivering with the effort, Darcy’s fingers yanking his hair when he rocked into her, his mouth sealed over her nipple, his other hand anchoring her hip to his.

He pulled off of her breast with a soft sucking sound, tilting his head up to brush his lips to hers, her long hair curtaining their faces.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Darcy. Please –”

She blinked her eyes open, only to squeeze them shut again when he rubbed her where their bodies met with precise strokes. Her breath hitched and he could feel her clutching him tighter, seeking the release.

“Steve –”

She was blinking down at him, mouth falling open as he kissed her cheek, grinding with her, everything slippery and warm. She looked lost, dizzied by it all, and she sounded like she was on the brink of tears when she finally came, whimpering and slumping in his arms.

Later when the sun was setting, Darcy woke up again, taking a deep breath and stretching beside him. They’re both naked and warm, everything smelling like their bodies. He knew he needed to shower, but he also didn’t care.

It was dark by the time Darcy got up, finding her bra to pull back on, and Steve’s eyes dipped to her pubic hair when she stood from the bed, pulling on clean clothes. He sat back on the pillows and Darcy crawled back toward him, kissing him deeply, slowly…

“You wanna get dinner?” she murmured, and he hummed.

He walked with his arm around her shoulders. Montemartre at night was like something out of a movie, so picturesque it didn’t seem real.

They drank red wine at their little table, sharing a plate of duck confit, and they watched the people walking by. Steve hadn’t spoken French in years and he liked the way Darcy reacted when he conversed with ease. He glanced her way after he ordered dessert, lifting his wineglass to take another sip.

“Too bad you didn’t bring handcuffs,” she murmured, and he felt himself smirk at her.

She looked good enough to eat, too, wearing a navy blouse under a trench coat that was tapered in at the waist, accentuating her curves.

He moved a little forward in his seat, Darcy doing the same. They shared a slow kiss, pulling back when a piece of her hair fell in his face. He tucked it behind her ear, eyes glued to hers.

“You want me to tie you up?” he murmured, and Darcy gave a slow grin.

“Maybe.”

“Hmm,” he said, eyes falling to her cleavage and flicking back up to her face. “I’m not gonna gag you, though. I like hearing you too much.”

They walked around together after they polished off the chocolate soufflé they split, kissing each other at every corner, and everything was dreamy and warm.

Paris made it easier to pretend. Darcy made it easy to fall into step with her, to hold her, to be held in return.

-

Each morning Steve woke, only to remember where he was, to recall it wasn’t a dream. Paris hadn’t been a dream. He was staying in Darcy’s bed, he’d been given permission, and he was letting himself have this indulgence.

He could picture Sam telling him he was doing what made him happy, and maybe it was him edging toward a cautious optimism, but then he’d remember what Darcy said.

It wasn’t real, no matter how many times he made her cry out his name in pleasure, no matter how many times she smiled up at him like he was the only person she’d ever known.

He managed to sleep better when he was with her, there was no use denying that. They slept late every morning, and he was usually the one to go make coffee first. He’d gently wake her with the scent of a fresh brew wafting up from the mug he left on her side of the bed. She’d roll over and stretch like a cat, chasing his hand that stroked her face, stroked her open between her thighs.

He knew each sound she made, now. The little gasps she’d make when he was warming her up, shivering with anticipation, her muscles jumping as he skittered a hand over her skin. He knew the moans when he was inside her, their bodies grinding, pleasure building.

Her screaming happened when he pushed her past a limit, usually when he was driving into her in precise, hard strokes, or when he suckled her clit, her back bowing of its own accord, and then she’d be begging, trying to curl in on herself for relief, but he’d keep going…

She got him back, like on the first night there, when she dropped to her knees without warning and sucked him dry, his fingers deep in her hair with her nose pressed against his stomach. She’d swallow him down and he’d feel as if every nerve was lit awake and his knees would be buckling, the climax more or less ripped from his body.

She was sweaty and pink-cheeked, marks all down her pale neck and chest and he’d feel his stomach flip, a sense of something greater coming over him. He didn’t think it was possible. He hadn’t gone looking for her, not even when Nat asked him to find her the very first time, Darcy’s knife at his neck.

He wasn’t himself.

Maybe he didn’t know who that was. But he knew her. He hoped he did.

He didn’t want to hope at all, but he caught himself every time, like when she’d hug him from behind when he was brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

-

He went to Louvre, made out with her in a room full of crown jewels. Darcy whispered to him something about a heist and he grinned down at her, loving the way her eyes shone with mischief.

The self-abuse was being pushed back by his selfishness. He let himself enjoy her company, though he knew he was pretending the world hadn’t ended. He knew he was a coward, but this was temporary. He wasn’t going to stay in Paris, no matter how much he wished he could.

He didn’t mean that to happen – for the hope to turn to wishing. He wished they had more time. He wished they’d had months behind them, years of her smile burned in his mind.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, or his hands. He altered between romantic and tender – like how he kissed her on top of the Eiffel Tower, the wind whipping her hair into his face, their mouths slanted together like a black and white movie – and being driven by an unquenchable need to have her in every way possible.

“What’re we doing?” he whispered one afternoon, and they were on the floor, panting.

His pants were down to his ankles, Darcy’s underwear at her ankles, with a wet patch between them. He didn’t know what possessed him to ask it then, but Darcy didn’t seem deterred.

“Getting crepes for lunch?” she whispered back.

He didn’t press the issue, distracted by the way her eyes traveled over his naked lower half, and he was twitching with interest again, like he was starved of her.

-

They ate ice cream by the Seine, and he stole a lick of Darcy’s before she shoved it into his nose, cackling as he wiped it away. He chased her down the street to catch her, letting her outrun him at first before he scooped her up and kissed her breathless, both of them giggling like kids.

-

She was sending back everything she bought to an organization back in the US that helped with supplying work clothes for women. She’d go into a store and come out with arms full of carrier bags that Steve usually took from her despite her objections, and then he’d watch her take everything out when they got back to the apartment.

One afternoon, almost two weeks into his stay, he remembered it was Bucky’s birthday.

At the time, he and Darcy were wrapped up in each other, after Steve pounced on Darcy. He’d bent her over for crouching too many times in his line of sight. He felt like an animal when he grabbed hold of her and shoved down her underwear to reach her.

Lying on his back with Darcy draped across him, he realized it had to be March 10th. He felt his stomach drop when his mind made the rapid calculation. He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath. Darcy lifted her head, frowning down at him.

“Steve?” she murmured. “What is it?”

His eyes smarted and he felt her brush his face gently, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His arm around her waist slipped down and he thought of Wakanda again, Bucky’s last word.

_Steve._

“Don’t,” he heard himself say, and he was sitting up, moving away, his back turned on her.

Here it was. Here was the truth.

This was what could be real, the sickening lurch of a memory invading his mind’s eye. This wasn’t something to get through with kisses and laughter. He couldn’t forget by burying himself inside Darcy, no matter how much he –

He put his face in his hands, ignoring Darcy, though she wasn’t making a sound. The atmosphere had changed so abruptly he was sure he’d scared her.

He grabbed his clothes from the floor, putting everything back on.

“Are you – where are you going?” she asked, her voice rough with tears.

His guts twisted and he didn’t look back.

“Out.”

He walked for a couple hours, until it got dark. He knew he wasn’t all together there, in his body. He wiped his eyes, sniffing as he managed to come back, his eyes unfocused as he stared up at the night sky.

-

Darcy was waiting for him, redressed, her hands on her knees as she stared at the floor. She hadn’t switched on the lights or lit a candle, she’d been sitting there in the dark for God knows how long.

He sat beside her, and neither of them said a word. He looked at the side of her face, and she looked like she did the morning before she left his apartment for Switzerland.

He took her hand in his, staring at their feet.

Then Darcy burst into tears, and it seemed to build, until she was leaning forward, wailing.

He pulled her toward him, but she wouldn’t stop. She began to plead.

“Don’t want this, please. I don’t _want _it…”

He felt his own sob bubble up and he bit it back, his chest like a vice.

“I want to go back, I want to stop feeling this, take it away…”

She was wracked with sobs, and he held her. It was all he could do, since he couldn’t change anything.

-

The last time he made love in Paris, it seemed to hurt them both, and then he was dressing the next morning and packing his clothes away.

He kept glancing around her apartment, a part of him knowing he wanted to stay. He wanted an excuse, to cling to her.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He walked back into her bedroom, and she was lying on her side and watching him come over. He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t bring himself to it somehow.

Darcy sniffed, a little smirk forming.

“See you stateside.”

He sat down, cupping her face. Her smile faded, her throat working as her eyes changed.

“Tread gently,” she added, letting out a shaky breath.

He kissed her, and a whimper ebbed from his mouth, because he wanted her, and in wanting her he also wanted impossible things.

He couldn’t ever seem to stop himself from wanting something better.

Something good.

He broke away, leaving before he could change his mind. He picked up his bag walked out, shutting her front door behind him.

He could hear a voice when he reached the street, a man singing above. It had to be coming from Darcy’s apartment, a song he’d heard before, one that made him pause his walk.

_I, I wish you could swim_

_Like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim_

Another man wouldn’t be able to hear it as well as him, and Steve pushed forward, listening until he couldn’t strain to hear anymore, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag.

_Though nothing, nothing will keep us together_

_We can beat them, forever and ever_

_Oh, we can be heroes, just for one day…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Me, writing this even after I've personally labeled it Heavy Angst](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUKmq7UMJys)
> 
> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg%22)  
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	8. 8_L0V3 0N 4 R34L 7R41N

_Maybe you're my enemy_   
_Now I've finally let you come a little close to me, oh_   
_Maybe you're my enemy_   
_You're the only one who knows the way I really feel, oh_   
_Now it's really clear to me_   
_You could do a little damage, you could cut me deeper_   
**\- "enemy" by Charli XCX**

**8_L0V3 0N 4 R34L 7R41N**

When he returned to Brooklyn, he didn’t hear from Nat for a couple days. He supposed he was getting some kind of pass, until the next shitstorm began. He knew Darcy wasn’t going to stop hacking because he’d spent two weeks with her loved up in Paris.

There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that he was watched when he was in France. He strolled around in public, oftentimes with Darcy by his side holding his hand or with his arm wrapped around her.

The more time he spent alone, the more he had to tell himself that it was the right choice, ditching her like that. He knew it wasn’t like him to treat people so badly, but he hadn’t been himself in years. It wasn’t like Darcy didn’t know what he was capable of.

He couldn’t lie to himself. He didn’t just go to Paris because he needed a slightly clearer conscience. He’d missed her. He’d thought she’d disappear and never come back.

There was an oligarch in Russia that lost everything a week after Steve left her. Darcy seemed to be throwing herself back into work.

Nat finally acknowledged his return with a text, asking him to come by. He was sick of driving to the compound, but he knew if he started turning her down it’d begin a poor habit. Nat wasn’t inclined to visit him, which was starting to get on his nerves.

He went empty-handed, assuming this wasn’t a dinner invitation, and he wasn’t wrong. He found her in the communications room with her feet up on the desk, chewing her nails. Her eyes darted to him and he could see her eyes were red from crying.

“Hey,” he said, putting his car keys on the desk.

“When’d you get back?” she mumbled, wiping her eyes.

“Last week,” he murmured.

Their eyes met and he could see she wasn’t sad anymore, there was the old fierceness he’d seen up close for years. It made Steve think of Bucky sometimes, and how he used to be when they were Howlies together, the closest thing to ruthless Steve could live with.

“How was she?”

The question hung between them for a few seconds, since he hadn’t told her he’d left the States, let alone gone to find Darcy specifically.

Steve felt his lips quirk slightly, but his guts twisted. He was feeling guilty after all, though it made little sense. It did nothing for him, feeling bad over a relationship that didn’t exist. This was the real world, and Paris had been the mirage.

“She’s moved on, I think,” Steve replied. “I saw that other hack –”

“That’s what could be reported on,” Nat countered, pulling her feet back. “But her head’s on several people’s lists. Her options are getting smaller by the hour.”

“So why am I here?” Steve said, and Nat glanced his way again. “To bring her in? What’s she got to gain from that?”

Nat smirked without warmth. “We both know she isn’t heartless.”

_No, but I’m turning into that_, Steve thought.

“She’s in town. Go find her, tell her I want to meet,” Nat said, and Steve frowned.

“I’m not comfortable with asking her that.”

“When would be a comfortable time for you, then, Steve?” Nat replied instantly. “Maybe the next time you roll off of her?”

Steve stared at her, feeling himself go still. It hadn’t been spoken about so explicitly before. He wondered if he was judged for going this far, instead of keeping Darcy at arm’s length like he did with those blind dates Nat used to threaten him with years ago.

_I’m not ready._

He couldn’t quite believe that was his life before. He’d never treated someone so poorly as he had Darcy.

He waited for Nat to say more. She moved to flip through some files, and then pointed to a photo that projected above their heads. It was Senator Don Thompson, whose involvement with the exposed pedophile ring had been officially nullified.

“She’s right about him,” Nat murmured. “She just can’t prove it.”

“How do you know?” Steve asked, and Nat shrugged a shoulder.

“We hear a lot of the same whispers. I think she hacked him before I could,” Nat murmured. “I found her root kit. She should be proud.”

Steve was shown emails, mostly frantic messages to Thompson’s contacts.

_(Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?)_

“He owes people a lot of money and favors,” Nat said. “And I think any day now, Darcy’s gonna wind up under someone’s car. Or maybe she’ll just vanish.”

“You want her to work with you,” Steve murmured.

Nat glanced at him, holding his gaze.

“Yes. Did you think I meant to tell Interpol she was mine to just save her ass?” she drawled, and Steve let out a short sigh. “Really, Steve…”

“I don’t think she’ll listen to me.”

Nat shrugged again. “Worth trying.”

-

Steve was sick of being a little errand boy. He went to the address Natasha forwarded him, a warehouse that used to be an Amazon fulfilment center, which he knew was exactly Darcy’s style, since she had such a vibrant revenge streak.

He didn’t text her, didn’t call. He saw Becca for the first time in a few weeks to make a day of it, showing up at the warehouse’s back entrance in the afternoon. It was a much sunnier day than the last time he was outside several days before. Nicer weather was something he pointed out in group therapy, and he could see why it bothered people to hear that banal type of shit as a sign of better days to come. The world, especially the way it operated from a meteorology perspective, had very little to do with optimism. Sometimes he was surprised no-one spat on him in that circle of chairs, or threw their crappy coffee across the floor.

This was probably some version of punishment from Natasha, telling him to go find Darcy yet again. He didn’t tell her any more about Paris, didn’t even mention Darcy by name again.

He rose a hand to knock on the door, glancing up at the security camera. It was dusty, with a broken lens, but Steve knew better. Most likely, they’d seen him coming, so the door opening with a click before he’d even touched it didn’t surprise him.

Darcy appeared, and Steve’s eyes fell to her bare skin. She wore a bikini top and a pair of denim shorts and a pair of white sneakers. Her eyes were warmer than he expected, reminding him of the apartment and the hours they spent rolling around together with so little direction, no real end to their lovemaking, until that final day…

Steve went still as she moved toward him, craning her head to reach his lips with hers, her tongue slipping between his lips. Steve grunted in surprise, his hands on her back, and one then slipped down to her rear and squeezed as she arched into his touch.

She pulled him inside, the door slamming shut. There was a large shelf with tyres large enough for a truck, and he pushed her into them, his hands never settling. Again, she was in his blood. He wanted her open and begging for him, and then maybe he’d finally explain himself to Nat –

“If you two are gonna go that here, could you give us a warning?” called a gruff Glaswegian voice, and Steve broke away from Darcy, stepping back.

Darcy’s face changed and Steve realized he’d been tricked, Darcy’s eyes flashing with some kind of triumph as she straightened her clothes and slipped away past the tyres. Steve followed her, stepping out to see two men sitting in folding chairs in the middle of the concrete floors.

One of them stood up, his hands on his hips, and Steve thought he looked familiar, though he couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen him before. His mind was still reeling from how Darcy had sucked the air out him moments before.

She walked toward the men, gesturing at them when she stopped in front of them, Steve keeping a few feet away, his hands deep in his pockets.

“This is Churchill and Miller,” Darcy said to Steve. “You may have seen Miller’s face in the papers, when he donated a cool million to that library down your street.”

Miller, the Glaswegian, did finger-guns at Steve, clicking his tongue.

“Really?” Steve said, and he was rewarded with a grin. “How’d you manage that?”

“Any records can be fabricated,” he said. “Also, a decent suit opens plenty of doors. I chose Tom Ford, Liz chose my tie and money clip.”

Steve looked at Darcy. “Liz?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, folding her arms. She smiled without warmth. “Short for Elizabeth.”

The man that stayed seated scratched his beard, cocking his chin at Steve.

“Who’s that?”

“This guy?” Darcy said, pointing at Steve, and then met his gaze again. “This is the guy who used to be Captain America.”

Churchill tutted, as Miller said:

“Oh, really? Well, good for him.”

Steve got the impression that they wouldn’t brake if they saw him crossing the street. He stared after Darcy as she stalked off, taking the side fire exit, the door slamming behind her. The men had already gone back to working, not making any sign they cared if Steve stayed or left.

He walked out, the door slamming behind him, and he glanced around to find Darcy under a large beach umbrella, sipping an ice tea.

“What the hell is this?” he snapped, and she turned her head toward him, her straw slurping.

“I’m preventing a vitamin-D deficiency,” she replied, putting her ice tea aside. She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. “If I get any paler, I’ll be accused of albinism.”

Steve wasn’t in the mood for any of this. He’d already spent all his patience on the drive over here. He was no longer surprised by how fast it took him from being turned on by her to wanting to shake her. It took very little to switch either way when it came to Darcy.

“Are you pissed because I didn’t give you a codename, too?” Darcy said, placing her hands together on her midriff. “What about ‘pumpkin’?”

His eyes narrowed, but he kept his mouth shut.

“There’s no way you’d ever blend in, even with some long cover story, Steve,” she muttered, glancing away, at the clear blue sky above. Her eyes shut once more. “And there’s no way your baseball cap and sunglasses routine would ever pass as a disguise.”

“Are you done?” he snapped, and Darcy blinked at him, her brows lifting. “You’re in serious danger, and you’re out here – tanning?”

“You know what Natasha’s real issue is, Steve?” Darcy said, deflecting with ease, like Steve knew she always would. “She keeps sending a man to do a woman’s job.”

She picked up her ice tea again, sipping it.

“She’s up for exposing Thompson,” Steve said, and Darcy’s eyes darted to his, her lips pulling away from the straw.

“And what about what I want?”

Steve put a hand on his hip.

“What _do_ you want?”

“She guards me wherever I go,” Darcy said, her mouth pulling into a smile that unsettled Steve. “I get to use SHIELD safe houses –”

“You wanna be on their books?”

“_No_,” she said, drawing out the word. She chuckled. “God, no. I’ll only ever freelance.”

“But you’d be willing to meet with her? On the compound?”

“How do I know this isn’t a long con?” Darcy said, swinging her legs across.

She stood, smiling up at Steve, but he didn’t return it. He could see that beneath it all, he’d hurt her badly. It made sense. He supposed if the roles were reversed he’d be pettier, but he also got the impression that Darcy hadn’t even begun tearing him apart.

“I won’t ever trust her,” she said, still smiling. “And I’ll never trust you.”

“I don’t need that,” Steve replied.

She snorted. “Yes, yes, you do.”

She stretched, turning away. She did a little spin in a patch of sunlight, taking a deep breath.

-

She met up with him that night, and they drove in silence to the compound. Darcy wore her usual uniform of a man’s black hoodie and a pair of ripped black jeans. Her sneakers, worn Converse that Steve supposed were once black, made him stare for a moment when she stepped out of the car at the main building’s entrance.

Her backpack was slung over one shoulder, and he could see her sneakers were untied as she walked ahead of him. One of her sneakers was also held together with gaffer tape.

Again, he thought of Paris, with the long flowing dresses she wore with sandals, and how she’d been so colourful, and now she was hiding in plain sight again, easily blending into a crowd.

“She’s expecting you, so –”

“I know,” she said, not turning his way.

She kept walking as Steve glanced down at his keys with a sigh. He thought about leaving them to it, but a part of him wanted to see them together.

It didn’t occur to him that it could turn into a physical fight until he saw them facing one another. Darcy lifted a hand to pull down her hood, exposing her face further. Steve’s eyes fell to her ponytail, and he pictured it in his fist, before his gaze darted to Natasha’s unreadable face.

“So now what do we do?” Steve said eventually.

Neither of the women took their eyes of each other.

“I guess you summoning me here instead of having my throat slit in Grand Central’s your way of telling me you like my style?” Darcy said, her voice flat.

Nat’s lips curled at the edge for a microsecond.

“No,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t say that. But I’d like to extend an olive branch –”

“Is that what that was, with Interpol?” Darcy cut in, and Steve saw a glint in her eye.

It was her bruised pride showing again.

“Since you don’t speak for me,” she said. “I doubt we even speak the same language –”

“Darcy,” Steve said, and her eyes finally swung to his, and she smirked.

“And you don’t speak for me, either, old timer,” she added. “So either arrest me, or shut the hell up.”

The silence that followed only seemed to embolden Darcy. She began to move around the communications room. Steve kept his eyes on the back of her head, while Natasha frowned a little, the cogs turning as she watched Darcy assess.

“I was never allowed to any SHIELD meetings, even when Jane was alive,” Darcy murmured, breaking the silence.

She glanced over at Nat, who’d crossed her arms.

“This isn’t about you feeling _undervalued_, Darcy,” she said, and Darcy smiled at her like a cat. “This is a longer route than some, but it’s suicide.”

Darcy’s eyes lifted to Steve’s.

“No, I’m moving on,” she said. “I’ve taken some of his advice. Found a path. And I’ll only come to your side if we actually work together.”

Nat and Steve exchanged a glance.

-

Darcy was practically skipping out of the building as Steve was right behind her.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed, and Darcy spun around.

“This is me,” she said, reaching his car and putting her arms wide. “This is how I move on.”

Steve stopped mid-step, and she lowered her arms, still smiling. In the last hour, she’d managed to do what few people could – and convinced Natasha to follow someone’s plan other than her own.

“You gonna drive me back to the city or what?” she added.

He considered telling her exactly how far the walk was. He could stick her in a cab, too. What he couldn’t shake was how brilliant she was, and he hadn’t told her that before.

“What?” she snapped eventually, because he was staring at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he watched her visibly deflate in surprise.

He took the several steps toward her.

“I’m sorry for –”

“For Paris?” Darcy cut in. “Don’t worry about it.”

Steve frowned, and she side-stepped him to open the passenger’s seat and slip inside. For the last few hours, Steve knew she hadn’t let him leave her sight, but she’d always been the one to turn her back on him. 

Steve opened his car door and slipped in next to her.

When they reached Brooklyn, he asked Darcy where she needed to go, and she didn’t give him a real answer.

“You don’t want me to come up?”

They were talking in the street. His eyes snapped to hers.

“We’re working together now.”

“I _know_ Nat knows about us,” Darcy said, screwing her face up. “It hadn’t stopped you when I was head of an underground hacker movement, it didn’t stop you when Interpol was onto me –”

“Well, maybe it should,” he said, and Darcy snorted, which he didn’t appreciate. “Y’know what?”

“What?” she threw back. “As if Paris meant anything. As if _any_ of this means anything! The people who matter are gone. So nothing else does.”

Steve fell silent, hanging his head as he sighed. It took him another three seconds to turn toward his building and she fell into step with him.

They were fucked up. Steve already suspected that. He knew he made it far worse since Paris. There would be no first date, or a second… He’d always know her this way.

They collided, Steve’s hands knowing each curve of her, remembering those gasps he could draw from her that filled his ears. It happened fast and hard, with little preamble, and he didn’t check if she was satisfied. He was angry with her, angry with himself for not having the guts to lay it out for her.

It was after, with his jeans down to his ankles, both of them panting on the floor, when he felt a fresh wave of shame, and he stood up, redressing as Darcy went to the bathroom. As she returned, he’d put his face in his hands.

“You going?”

“Yeah,” she said, and he took his hands away, seeing her pick up her backpack and check inside.

“Stay,” he heard himself say, and his voice was thin.

Darcy’s jaw tensed. It was a lot for him to ask that, after what he’d done.

“Please.”

She swallowed, looking around. “This is better than the last place I stayed in –”

“I hate that you don’t have somewhere to go,” he blurted, his chest tighter. “I hate that I left you behind. I hate that I can’t take it all back. I hate that I did this to you…”

He glanced at the ceiling, his eyes stinging. He drew in a shallow breath.

“I’m a big girl, Steve,” Darcy said. “I chose this, too.”

“I can’t stop,” he admitted. “I want it to stop…”

“You don’t want it to,” Darcy said.

Steve gave a short chuckle, sighing. “No, I don’t…”

He stared at the floor, as Darcy walked over to him, sitting beside him, close enough so their shoulders brushed.

“I sulked for two days,” Darcy whispered. “And then I made Miller the face of the millionaire. Even bought him that latex and the fake nose. I did it to impress you.”

Steve turned his head slightly to look at her. Her face had softened and she looked bashful.

“_Were _you impressed?”

“You scare the shit outta me,” he whispered.

Darcy burst out laughing, and he joined her, lifting his hand to cup her cheek, pulling her into a kiss. It was their first proper kiss all night, and he’d ached for it without knowing it until just now.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he whispered, as he pulled back. “I'm sorry I didn't stop Thanos. I’m sorry I couldn’t save everyone.”

“Steve –”

“I can’t make this right, you know I can’t make this right,” he said. “So what do we do in the meantime?”

Darcy placed her hand over his that still held her jaw, and she gave a little smile without showing her teeth.

“We burn the village. We do it _my_ way. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)   
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	9. 9_534RCH 4ND D357R0Y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eat the rich, I don't know what else to tell you

_Lying so awake, things I can't escape_   
_Lately, I just turn 'em into demons_   
**\- "Delete Forever" by Grimes**

**9_534RCH 4ND D357R0Y**

Steve had a view of Darcy’s bare back as he stirred awake, his body sensing it was only a couple hours after he initially crashed.

She was at the foot of his bed, hunched over with her hair in a messy bun, her lower half swathed in the sheets.

He remembered last night, and the night before. She’d been digging and digging in his presence, instead of leaving him to find accommodation in her wider network. Her process was pretty simple. Eat, fuck, sleep and hack. Being present for all four didn’t necessarily make Steve feel useful, especially in moments like these when he was almost certain he’d worn her out.

She turned out to be a worse sleeper than him.

“Fuck,” she hissed, and she slammed her laptop shut, dragging her fingers through her hair a second later.

He sat up on his elbows, watching her put aside the laptop and look toward his window. There was a siren fading in the distance and she let go a soft sigh.

“Hey,” he finally said, reaching for her, and she gave him a cursory glance, her face sullen. “Still no luck?”

“None,” she muttered. She closed her eyes and shook her head in frustration. “No-one can find anything. I spent the last two hours scouring the files the FBI already had –”

She suddenly scooped up the laptop once more, standing to leave the bed, Steve’s eyes reflexively dropping to her naked rear as she walked across the floor to his kitchen corner, fiddling with the bottom of her laptop, pulling a piece of it out.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Steve said, realizing too late.

She slammed the microwave shut with several pieces of machinery inside, pressing the start button. There was an almost immediate bang to follow with sparks visible in the tiny window, and Steve sprang to his feet, racing over to Darcy as he watched in horror.

“I have to wipe it all, start again,” Darcy said.

“You could _warn_ me –”

“I’ll buy you a new microwave,” she added, distracted. “You got any trash bags?”

She walked over to her backpack on the floor without waiting for his answer, where she retrieved a power drill that she pieced together in a couple seconds, testing it, before returning back to the laptop she’d left on his counter beside his microwave.

“You’ll burn yourself,” she warned, glancing up to meet his gaze, as Steve considered ripping the microwave door open to prevent a larger fire.

She drilled several holes into her laptop as the microwave beeped, signifying its end. Steve could still hear the crackling from within, and when he opened the door, he inhaled the burned plastic and shot Darcy another look.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” she said, and there was a hint of a smile on her face.

Darcy threw out the laptop and the hard drives in separate trash bags and disappeared for an hour, before returning to Steve’s apartment, holding a carton of takeout coffees, passing him a cup when she slipped back into bed beside him.

He was trying to stay mad at her but he’d grown accustomed to this dynamic. She did whatever she wanted, she was a creature of irritating habits, and he complained often enough, only for them to work it out one way or another, either in bed or against a wall, or on the floor, or on a table…

He’d lost count how many times he’d been inside her one way or another. It didn’t feel like Paris. They were in his apartment, for one thing. Darcy’s felonies occurring in front of his eyes was also new. He had to tell himself to not try to convince her to stop. It was a pointless hypocrisy.

And yet he couldn’t help wanting to help her rest somehow.

He watched her think as she leaned on her elbow, his arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her against his side.

“Why can’t you just take his money?” he asked.

Darcy’s eyes swiveled to his.

“Because I want this guy hung out to dry,” she said. “But he doesn’t have a single digital fingerprint, and no-one in his circle does, either. At least, nothing I can use. No _angle_…”

Natasha had said to Darcy in front of Steve:

“You’re right about Thompson. You just can’t prove it.”

He knew that Nat must have tried the same things Darcy had.

“What makes you think he’s what Nat says he is?” Steve murmured.

He knew if he was connected to the pedophile ring, he was a scumbag, even if it was him being associated with those people and not necessarily a willing participant.

“There was a list that the FBI found,” Darcy said. “I found the copy of the list. It’s handwritten, but unverifiable –”

“Whose is it?”

“A rumored victim,” Darcy said with a sigh. “It doesn’t make it… _concrete_…”

She was mulling something over and Steve let out a breath of a laugh, interpreting her silence accurately by how Darcy smirked down at him.

“It’s like tryin’ to make a murder case without a body, right?” he said, and she nodded.

-

Senator Thompson’s mansion looked like a consulate from the outside. It was ugly, but Steve supposed his tastes were out of fashion to begin with. Its marble pillars only signified a tacky kind of opulence, the perfectly manicured hedges that surrounded it were gauche and lifeless.

“The codes change every thirty minutes,” Miller said, as Darcy had the binoculars.

Steve, Churchill and Darcy were all watching the mansion from down the street, peeking through a tiny attic window of a house whose owners dusted with the majority of the neighborhood.

Darcy was chewing bubble gum and snapped it, passing the binoculars to Steve as his eyes fell to her mouth, briefly distracted by the stir of desire in his guts.

“And the guards?” Darcy asked, her eyes twinkling at Steve for a second before he peered through the binoculars at the entrance gate.

“At least three guns on them each,” Churchill said. “I’m guessing they’re also trained in hand-to-hand combat.”

Miller cleared his throat.

“And the walls will have to be _scaled_, unless you can figure out a way to tunnel out of there.”

There was a brief silence and Steve put down the binoculars, his eyes shifting back to Darcy, who seemed deep in thought.

“We’re getting in there,” she murmured to Churchill, who dropped his head and chuckled.

“Right, and because you’re _you_ –”

“Yeah,” she simply said, taking the binoculars back from Steve to peer into them once more, ignoring the look of incredulity that had begun to form on Churchill’s face.

-

“We have to hit it when there’s plenty of people hanging around,” Darcy said, her hands on her hips.

Steve’s eyes swung to meet Nat’s, whose lips pursed. Since SHIELD was the shell of its former self, it was hard for him to believe that Darcy had the organization’s full support. Agents had been scattered far and wide, if they hadn’t already left.

“You’re letting me go in there blind,” Darcy said, when Natasha didn’t say anything.

Steve was inclined to believe that the spy was simply thinking the plan over, but she bit her lip, folding her arms.

The conference room in the Avengers facility was bare and sad, so much colder than Steve remembered it to be. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been there since the Accords.

“I can give you somewhere to hide afterward,” Natasha finally said, and Darcy let out a little bitter laugh.

“Right.”

“Darce, you don’t have to do this –” Steve began, but she glared at him.

“My imagination’s atrophied since the Blip, so I’m sorry that I can’t think of a more creative way to get payback for everyone involved.”

Natasha sighed and Darcy turned her steely gaze to her, lifting her brows ever so slightly.

“He won’t admit you’re scaring him,” Natasha murmured, and Darcy blinked.

“_Scaring_ Steve?”

Steve bristled. He didn’t like them talking as if he wasn’t there, but they had a habit of doing it regardless of his protests. He felt his jaw tick.

“Scaring him how?” Darcy said to Natasha, before glancing his way. “You afraid I’m gonna start crying?”

“I think you’re gonna start screamin’ –” Steve attempted to cut in.

“And scream _what_, exactly?” Darcy said.

“I think you’re full of inconsolable rage and nothing will ever make it go away,” Natasha said, and Darcy went still, her triumphant glint draining from her eyes.

Ever since Paris, he’d been waiting for her to break down like she had, pleading for him to take away her unbearable grief. He’d rarely seen anyone ever cry that way, like they were desperate to exorcise their own demons. He’d seen soldiers in combat with their limbs blown off crying like she had, wailing from an emotional wound rather than their physical ones.

“Maybe,” Darcy said. “But… but this has gotta help, even a little. And then maybe, one day…”

She glanced away, her voice going softer.

“Maybe one day you’ll look for me and I won’t be there. I’ll slip away and you’ll be glad, because then you’d know I was somewhere away from all this.”

Natasha didn’t have that luxury when Clint left, since he was on his rampage, but the spy’s face fell as Darcy said it, and Steve sensed Darcy was cutting too deep, too close to the bone.

Darcy was looking at Steve now and he felt stripped bare. She had the ability to do that to him since the day they met.

It was a superpower few women knew they had, but it was nonetheless devastating.

He looked away, at Natasha, seeing her swipe away a tear. He’d never seen her cry in front of an acquaintance before, which Darcy was despite the fingerprints she’d left all over his ruined heart.

Natasha finally spun away, overcome by what she was feeling, leaving Steve and Darcy looking at one another. Steve felt his stomach flip. He took a deep breath.

“So, now what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)   
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com)


	10. 10_91V1N' 84D PE0PLE 900D 1DE42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, meet fan

_Fuck weak, no respect, no chance_  
  
\- **"Bubbles Buried in this Jungle" by Death Grips**

**10_91V1N' 84D PE0PLE 900D 1DE42**

“You wouldn’t think it’s the apocalypse,” Lex muttered.

He was playing a live feed of the front gate of the Thompson estate, and Steve had to agree. It was Senator Thompson’s daughter Kayleigh’s sixteenth birthday party, going ahead despite the current political climate and despite the suspicion of the senator’s connections to the wider pedophile ring that Darcy and her allies had already infiltrated months ago.

Steve was leaning on the table beside Lex as their getaway driver remained seated, while Darcy unzipped the dry-cleaner bags for herself and Churchill.

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” Lex added, and Darcy nodded without making eye contact, distracted.

She was wearing a long ash blonde wig, looking cute but not like herself, which was the point. She needed to be pleasing to the eye but unremarkable. Steve did not picture Natasha doing the job this way. She’d get a VIP invite somehow and wear a ball gown with her leg tapering out of a high-cut split. This wasn’t espionage, this was more or less burglary.

Steve supposed he didn’t need to be there, but he’d insisted, since Darcy had made him privy to everything. There were many ways that this could go wrong, as Lex kept reminding them over the last few weeks of planning.

They needed to get inside, plant the bug and get out of there undetected. Darcy justified doing it tonight as Kayleigh’s friends and family were under the one roof by stating:

“The more activity, the more likely we can slip undercover. They’re worrying about her new Mercedes Benz’s ribbon not sitting straight when they whip off the tarp in front of a crowd. They’re not looking inside the house.”

“Deep breaths, my dudes,” Darcy murmured, and she looked Steve’s way, smirking. “And when in doubt, call the cavalry.”

“You’ll hit the floor before you can call Captain America to get you outta there,” piped up Miller, who was also sitting with a separate laptop, one that was connected to Darcy’s hidden server.

“Churchill, again,” Darcy said, picking up a tiny mirror to examine her face, paying particular attention to her hairline.

Churchill began to run through the plan with a short sigh.

“Arrive for shift, serve rich bitches and rich _sons_ of bitches…”

Miller began to chuckle.

“Blackout, server overload, office, then back downstairs –”

“Do not take off your gloves,” Lex cut in, and Churchill held up his black-gloved hands, frowning.

“Who do you think I am?”

“You want those guys to trace you? Be my guest –”

Darcy cleared her throat and they both went quiet. She looked at Steve.

“Be ready in case there’s an issue.”

“He won’t hear from you, you’ll be dead,” Miler muttered.

Darcy snapped her glove on, brows hiking.

They all piled into the van, a cramped vehicle at the best of times, as they peeled off into the night. Darcy was bumping into Steve’s side as they swayed together, the tyres squealing as they sped down a trash pile a few streets away from their destination.

“How the fuck did Thompson keep all his family in all this?” Churchill muttered, and they turned another corner and down a dark road.

Only every few houses were lit, signifying a pretty quiet block. When they were there for their stakeout, Steve had thought maybe there’d be more signs of life at night, but he was wrong.

“His mother-in-law dusted,” Lex said.

“I’m sure he’s been beside himself over that one,” Miller said dryly.

Steve didn’t know what he’d do after this. He’d skipped the last meeting for his group counselling session in the city. He didn’t think there’d be much else for him to do after this, not after that morning when Darcy said she was going to retreat for a while.

“Come with me, we’ll go for a road trip.”

They were naked in bed at the time, so Steve was already compromised. Darcy didn’t have to do much to twist his arm, and he was barely denying her requests those days anyway.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere,” she murmured. “And everywhere.”

“You’re not gonna stop,” he whispered, and her smile had faltered, her brow furrowing.

“Maybe for the right person…”

She didn’t sound like herself, so of course he hadn’t taken her suggestion seriously. He had grown used to her drive for revenge, but he was thinking of Natasha and Becca, the people he’d be leaving behind yet again.

“You’re not that selfish,” she said, and he gave a wry little smile.

“Neither are you,” he whispered back.

She wasn’t, even if her ego got a little boost from fucking these powerful men over and over again. She wouldn’t do their Paris pretend game on a long-term basis. It didn’t stop Steve from kissing her again, from rolling her onto her back and making love to her like he was hers to keep forever.

In the van together, his hand slipped down to squeeze hers, away from the eyes of the other men, and he heard her let go her breath, her face softening as she stared straight ahead.

“Break a leg,” Lex said, and Darcy gave Steve one last glance, and his stomach twisted with anxiety.

He hoped she didn’t need him. He trusted she knew what she was doing.

-

Darcy’s feet hit the ground, and Churchill slammed the van door behind them as Darcy zipped her jacket over her uniform. Both she and her partner had matching gold studs, Churchill’s a single earring while Darcy’s was part of a set. The jewelry would act as their ear pieces, and Churchill cleared his throat as Darcy moved ahead of him.

“Receiving,” Lex’s voice murmured. “See you soon.”

The wait staff were an outsourced group of disgruntled young people, most of them starved of work at the best of times. It wasn’t difficult to secure the shifts, and if it went according to plan, Thompson’s people would search for the people Darcy and Churchill claimed to be and only find the scant remnants of two fake online profiles they’d easily whipped up.

The back entrance to the estate was chaotic, vans parked for catering personnel to have access to the kitchens on the ground floor. Churchill approached the guard with a clipboard, his eyes falling to his heavy jacket. Darcy glanced behind the guard at the steady stream of people slipping in and out of the building.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, we rely on buses, ours came later than we thought –” Churchill began, and the man rose a hand to silence him.

“IDs.”

Darcy handed hers over to Churchill who passed his own with it to the guard. It was clear that he was wearing the coat to cover his firearm when he reached into his pocket to consult a list, his pen trailing down the clipboard.

“Allison James and Lucas –”

“Yeah, I can read,” the guy snapped. “Alright, go. But you’re not getting paid for the first hour.”

“Oh, come on,” Churchill began, but the man glared at him.

“Or you can just _leave_.”

Churchill kept up the disgruntled youth act as Darcy shoved him along, before taking him by the wrist to lead him inside.

“Lex, we good?” she said under her breath.

_“Yeah, he’s lost interest. The florist showed up after you.”_

-

These children were absolute brats.

It took Steve no time at all to come to this conclusion, and he knew he wasn’t just showing his age. The wait staff were dealing with all types of entitled bullshit, from what he could hear over the comms. His piece fit snuggly into his right ear as his eyes darted from the laptop screen in front of Lex to the screen in front of Mitchell to the dark view of the street in front of them.

“Two minutes,” Lex said.

He seemed to only speak to Darcy. The music that blasted over the comms as well as beyond the van gave a vaguely echoing effect, along with the random raucous laughter and screaming. The kids were mostly dropped off by their parents, ducked inside, and had begun drinking the second they slipped into the main area where Kayleigh seemed to be the center of attention.

She was beautiful, loud and wore a silver tiara that was probably worth more than the stuffy van. Steve heard her cry out every so often:

“Who wants to do shots with me?”

“Fucking Americans,” Mitchell muttered, shaking his head, not pausing his rapid typing.

Steve wondered what it was like to be a kid in this darker world. He’d already lived through the Depression, but he still didn’t think he had a sufficient idea what it was like. He’d counselled fathers and mothers whose children had acted out since Thanos, but these kids had the money and privilege to chase their misery with hard liquor.

“I’d say it’s a pretty universal experience,” Darcy murmured over the comms. “But I gotta admit, this kinda reads like Nero playing his violin…”

He wished he was in there with her, or that she’d stayed in the van. He wanted to hear her little quips from a safe position, but he knew she was the best at this, and they’d never succeed without her being in the house, no matter how anxious he grew while he waited, hoping.

“One minute,” Lex said.

Darcy was serving champagne to an eighteen year-old, her voice light as they listened to her weave through the crowd.

“Can I offer you a drink -?”

Her question was cut off as Lex made the switch, the estate suddenly flooded with darkness as a few kids began to squeal in surprise, their laughter and voices overlapping.

“Go,” Lex said.

“We’re off,” Mitchell added, and Steve’s eyes fell to his screen once more, watching as the text began to climb up and up, figures moving in rapid-fire.

Darcy explained it as being a technical double-whammy. While the mansion was cut of its power, they had roughly thirty seconds before the generator kicked in, which was activated by a remote server that her network was currently overwhelming in a well-coordinated assault.

Lex’s phone began to ring a minute later when the generator didn’t activate, signifying Thompson’s security was trying to call the host server provider.

“Welcome to Ult-Safe, my name is Malcolm, how may I help you this evening?”

Steve caught snippets of the irate voice in Lex’s ear. By now, Darcy should be inside the office. In the rising panic, she and Churchill would easily slip away to get to Thompson’s private quarters.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Could you please start with your username and unique pass codes?”

Mitchell glanced up, smirking at Steve when Lex repeated it out loud so Darcy could hear it over the comms.

-

Darcy punched in the code, Churchill behind her as they illuminated their movements with matching LED torches linked to the carabiners on their belts.

Darcy let out a soft breath as she breached the door, slipping in as it hung ajar, her feet light as she snuck past a shelf and over to the desk where the senator’s laptop lay closed.

She took out the bug, which was less than a pinky nail’s width in diameter, from under her wig. Her eyes snapped to Churchill, who kept looking behind him.

She clicked her fingers toward him, and he glanced her way, biting his lip. He was covered in sweat, and Darcy went still as she straightened up.

“What’s this?” came a voice.

Senator Thompson appeared beside Churchill, who wasn’t looking Darcy in the eye.

“Churchill, you fucking idiot,” she hissed, as he stepped aside for Thompson to move past him.

The power came back on as Thompson shut the door behind him with a soft click, and Darcy blinked blearily for several seconds as the office was flooded with light, her hands balling into fists.

Thompson moved toward her, a smile playing on his lips, barely concealing the wrath beneath.

“We’re going for a little walk.”

She didn’t say a word, her eyes glued to his as he crowded her into the shelf. She slipped one hand behind her back and shoved her earrings into the waistband of her trousers, but Thompson was smiling at her wider as he approached her, crowding her into the shelf.

He ripped her arm from behind her and tugged her away from the wall, marching her out of the room. She saw Churchill by the entrance, his eyes on his shoes as a couple security guards followed them down the hallway to a private staircase at its end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From first hand experience, a DDoS attack can be a real pain in the ass to deal with, especially from a government agency perspective. This is a much smaller scale but nonetheless effective. 
> 
> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)  
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	11. 404 Not Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **cw: child molestation, sexual abuse, violence**
> 
> I'm... mean, okay?

_Fuck a princess, I'm a king_   
_Bow down and kiss on my ring_   
_It's gonna hurt, it'll sting_   
_Spitting your blood in the sink_   
_I'm crazy, but you like that_   
_I bite back_   
**\- "Daisy" by Ashnikko**

_I'm in your area_   
_I know the first three numbers_   
_I'm in_   
_When you come out_   
_Your shit is gone_   
_You'll catch a jpeg to the head_   
**\- "Hacker" by Death Grips**

_What am I gonna do ?_  
_I feel like I'm on fire_  
_If you only knew  
_ **-"Vicious Streak" by New Order**

**404 Not Found**

Kayleigh was sober. She’d been pouring drinks for everyone else, pretending she was joining in. It was incredibly hard to act drunk, but she had to, to make sure she was safe.

She hadn’t wanted the party to happen, but her friends had been excited about it, and she was in Best Daughter Ever mode. She did this so her dad left her be, relatively. Her mom was at another spa weekend with her girlfriends, and Kayleigh didn’t blame her – it wasn’t spoken about, but any excuse either of them found to get away from them, they had to take. Kayleigh stopped hoping her parents would ever divorce, and the last year had cemented her doubt, especially when the FBI came around, trying to sniff out anything.

Kayleigh knew there were pictures of her out there, with her dad and his friends. She wasn’t sure what they looked like – for the most part, she remembered that they’d kept her face covered or obscured enough to make it semi anonymous. She knew she’d never get over the shame of it if she was ever discovered in that treasure trove of her dad’s, even though she knew none of it was her fault.

Her dad hung around as her friends came in, but he was being Cool Dad, letting the kids party with drinks, turning a blind eye when they’d disappear to the bathroom and come back bouncing off the walls. She knew if she kept it up, he’d give her the car he’d promised.

Kayleigh stayed between a couple friends, a boy named Johnny and her friend Harper. She knew Johnny was after her for the last few months. It was common knowledge he intended to be her first. She felt as if she lived between two worlds, the one her father inhabited and the one with the boys her age, and neither of them were supposed to meet. She’d never be able to tell Johnny the truth, that she was a woman in a little girl’s body from a young age. She’d string him along for a little while and then gently push him aside, tell him she wasn’t ready, and give him to Harper or another female friend of hers that would be more than happy to have this popular, handsome, perfectly normal guy as their first.

“We gonna order pizza?” Johnny asked, leaning to half-yell in her ear over the music.

Kayleigh could smell his cologne, its scent a combination of peppercorns and leather, and when he pulled back, she gave a little shrug of her shoulder. It was flirty enough that she didn’t come across as frigid, but she knew if she pushed too hard her dad would make her pay for it later. Her eyes met him across the living room floor, and he was watching her even in the middle of conversing with one of his security guys.

Kayleigh envied her mom. She thought of running away so many times, but every time she’d been too afraid, her mind picking apart every plan. It was clear that he could get away with virtually anything, since he had been for years.

“I hope so, I’m _starving_,” Kayleigh said to Johnny, adjusting her tiara. “You got the munchies, too?”

He began to giggle, his eyes glazed, and Kayleigh smiled up at him.

The room suddenly went dark and Kayleigh’s eyes swung back over to her father, trying to adjust to the dark. The music had cut off, signifying a black out of some kind. The crowd around her were screaming out to just make sounds – she couldn’t blame half of the kids her age for acting the way they did, since being good hadn’t saved half the world.

“Yo, think we could get outta here?” Johnny whispered, and she turned her head in his general direction, feeling his hand on her arm.

“Maybe…”

The thought of him touching her made her nauseous. She unlocked her phone to distract herself, like many others had, to turn on their torches. The generator should have come on by then, but the house remained dark, a shell. Kayleigh heard someone yell out:

“Google says the whole neighborhood’s out.”

“What? Fuck that…”

“Yeah, fuck off!” Kayleigh yelled, rolling her eyes. “It’s _my_ fucking party…”

Her dad was gone, she realized, when she looked around again. Johnny seemed emboldened by this, his hand reaching further down, resting on the small of her back. His lips were at her ear again.

“You look really good tonight…”

She stepped aside as the lights came on, her guts twisting at the thought of having to reject him, since he’d probably be a jerk about it. She hadn’t witnessed anything else from him to think otherwise.

“Any power in the street?” she asked, a classmate with their phone out glancing her way as she approached the window.

“Nah.”

So the generator was finally on. She thought of finding her father, to check in to see how pissed off he was. He probably stalked off after seeing Johnny cozying up to her. It’s not that he’d ever discouraged her dating boys her age, but he was so much nicer to her when they weren’t around. She remembered one time when he was almost gentle with her after she went to prom last year with some older kids and she’d come back before curfew, nothing out of place.

It was that line she teetered on again. A normal girl would date boys her age. She wasn’t a normal girl.

She walked towards the stairs, waving at people along the way. She dropped the act when her face was turned away, her eyes trailing up to the top of the stairs, where she could see the light was on in her dad’s office.

There was a waiter in his white shirt and black tie uniform hanging around outside, looking stricken as his eyes were on his shoes. There were two of her dad’s security guys close-by.

Why was this complete stranger upstairs?

Kayleigh climbed the stairs, holding her dress in one hand and holding the banister in her other. She tried to move slow and casually, but she was afraid of anyone outside her family seeing that room, or anything inside it. She hadn’t slept for days after the feds had raided the house. She knew her dad wasn’t an idiot, he’d have schemes upon schemes to hide his private life and very private urges.

Except then her dad was appearing in the doorway, a young blonde woman in a similar waiter’s uniform beside him.

She was too old to be his type, but his hand was gripping her arm, steering her down the hallway.

One of the security guys, Bobby, turned his head toward Kayleigh and stopped.

“It’s alright, ma’am.”

“Dad?” Kayleigh called, though it hurt.

She knew if she acted afraid at all it meant she was in trouble later. If any aspect of their façade fell away, she was in deep shit.

Her father spun around, the girl turning her head toward Kayleigh in turn. The other waiter was between Bobby and the other guard, Ken.

“Hey, sweetie,” he murmured, and he let go of the girl, moving back toward Kayleigh.

His hands came up to rub her bare arms and she felt her cheeks heat, knowing these people were all watching her. The warmth in her father’s smile never reached his eyes.

“Just a little medical emergency, nothing to it. I’m gonna take these two to the hospital –”

“What’s going on?” she whispered, and his smile fell.

“Nothing, it’s alright. Go back downstairs,” he said, and she nodded automatically but stayed rooted to the spot.

She looked over at the girl again, trying to read her. She seemed ordinary, no-one she’d probably pay much attention to, especially since she was waiting on her. Every so often, Kayleigh caught people glaring at her in the street, even before her dad was being investigated. The was something in the air ever since the Blip ended, and the girl narrowed her eyes ever so slightly her way.

Instead of pushing it aside as envy, since Kayleigh didn’t know what this random girl was going through, but most likely she was poor as shit, she kept staring after her.

Her dad gave her a little shake and she knew then that something was seriously wrong.

“I’m already giving you this big party, alright? What more do you want? I’ll come back later. I’m not dragging you and your friends down.”

She looked at her father and he shook her again, but played it off as joking with a little chuckle.

“Is it your car, sweetheart? You want your car?”

Kayleigh nodded, not sure what else to do. He gave her another smile, one of his hands leaving her, a white mark left behind as her blood began to rush back, and he fished out some keys from his pocket, placing them in her hand.

“You can have a drive later when I get home tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

He kissed her forehead, and Kayleigh stared right at the girl now, not feeling the weight of the car keys in her palm. She watched as he walked away, back to the wait staff and his guards. Kayleigh felt herself begin to detach from her body, a common occurrence, as they disappeared down the staircase and out of sight at the end of the hallway.

-

“She’s muted her comm. She’s taking too long,” Lex murmured, and Steve’s stomach dropped.

His eyes were trained on the estate and he reached for the van door, only to have Mitchell reach out to stop him.

“Whoa there, Captain,” he warned. “If you go in there without warning, none of us will get out of here alive.”

“She’s not answering me,” Lex said, and Mitchell’s jaw ticked, his face falling.

“Shit. Well, she does have the ability to improvise –”

There was a squeal of tyres and they all looked out the windshield, Steve’s heart in his throat as he saw a black SUV peel off down the street.

“Go, go, go!” Steve yelled, and Lex shoved his laptop aside, his hand going to the ignition.

The van roared into life and they took off, Mitchell and Steve nearly falling over in the back as everything began to slide out of place.

“She got a tracker in her comms?” Steve asked, and Mitchell yelled:

“Obviously!”

Lex was half a street behind the SUV, dodging parked cars in the road and Mitchell kept typing, the Glaswegian groaning.

“Fuck, it’s her. At least Churchill’s with her –”

“Can you get hold of him?” Steve asked.

His elbow smashed into the wall as Lex took a sharp turn at an intersection, and he winced, regaining his balance to finally climb back into the passenger seat.

“He’s muted, too,” Mitchell said, turning his screen so Steve could see.

“Does Thompson have a property somewhere else?” Steve asked.

“Last time I checked, he had one in Westchester –”

Lex screeched to a stop and Mitchell smacked into the back of Steve’s chair, the whole van lurching. Steve’s eyes swung to the road.

“RUN THE STOP SIGN!”

Lex promptly hit reverse and Mitchell was thrown back, and Steve grabbed him by the shirt to pull him back in place as Lex craned his neck, watching the rear view mirror.

They lurched down another street and Lex shot Mitchell a look.

“The _address_, for fuck’s sake?”

-

Darcy’s hands were zip-tied behind her back, and without her seatbelt on she was knocked from side to side, one of the guards reaching across her to secure her in place.

Thompson’s eyes were glued to her as he sat on her other side, his arm resting across her headrest like it was a casual drive through the country.

It looked like the countryside, not New York state suburbia, since each manor was so far apart like an estate.

Churchill looked sickly in his space in the passenger seat, his nail between his teeth as his eyes kept darting around, settling on the blackness outside the window.

“How much further?” Thompson asked, and Bobby met his gaze in the rear view mirror.

“Eight minutes, sir.”

Churchill made a soft sound behind his teeth liked a sob and Darcy’s stare remained straight ahead.

They got there two minutes early, the gravel crunching under the wheels of the SUV as they let themselves in past the deserted boom gates at the front. It was clear no staff had been there for some time, and no-one was expecting them.

“Here’s good,” Thompson said.

The SUV slowed to a crawl and Bobby parked it, ducking out. There was a short reprieve of silence before Darcy’s door was ripped open and she was yanked out, thrown on the grass. Thompson slipped out, Churchill’s door opening in turn.

The four men stood around Darcy, watching her manage to get on her knees without using her hands. Thompson’s face slackened.

“She’s determined,” he murmured, smirking. He looked at Bobby. “Kill her.”

“Wait – wait!” Churchill said, putting up his hands.

Thompson shot him a look. Churchill had begun to shake.

“You said you’d let her go if she got you the money back.”

“Gimme the gun,” Thompson said, ignoring Churchill, who was laughing nervously.

“You said –”

“I know what I said,” Thompson cut in, as he was handed the Glock by the butt of it, before aiming it at Darcy, taking the safety off. “I say a lot of things.”

“She’ll get it back –”

“I won’t,” Darcy said, and everyone stared at her. “It’s gone. The money’s all gone…”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Churchill half-yelled.

Thompson let out a chuckle.

“Jesus, kids. Your whole operation is a mess,” he said, sighing. His hand dipped into his pocket and he took out a Swiss Army knife. “Tell you what. I’ll cut your hands free.”

He knelt and moved to cut the zip-tie at Darcy’s wrists. He smiled down at her.

“I wanna watch you crawl.”

“No,” she said, and he gave another chuckle lacking warmth.

“Oh, you’re a little _cunt_…”

Churchill moved toward Thompson who whipped around, rising to aim his Glock at him instead. He was playing his game in the driveway for anyone to see if his neighbors were still alive.

It was clear that none of them were likely to be in this exact situation if the Blip hadn’t happened.

“Isaac.”

Darcy said Churchill’s real name out loud, and his eyes fell to hers, brimming with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I went to him after – after I figured I was fucked –”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Darcy said.

“You never asked about me!” he said, and she stared up at him, swallowing. “You only ever wanted me for your jobs.”

“Tell him he’s going to be fine, sweetheart,” Thompson said.

“I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die –”

“Isaac, look at me,” Darcy said, her voice rising. “Keep looking at me, you’re not alone. You’re not alone –”

She was cut off by the gunshot ripping through the night air, the bullet colliding with Churchill’s skull, blood and brains spraying in several directions as he fell to his knees, before slumping face-first into the ground.

Thompson looked unaffected, glancing at Ken.

“You go get a shovel.”

Darcy was panting on the ground, staring at Churchill. His eyes were still open, and his mouth was open, blood trickling into the ground as Ken walked off toward the manor. Thompson let out a sigh.

“Seems like a waste if I do the same to you, considering,” he muttered, shrugging. “I’ve seen what you can do with a Swiss bank account.”

“Your money is gone,” she said, and his jaw ticked, his smile fading. “So whichever shark you’re trying to out swim –”

“I figured that, y’know,” he said. He looked over at Churchill and spat on him. “When he showed up, telling me Captain America was your fuck buddy –”

He knelt beside her, putting his gun under her chin with a grin spreading across his handsome face. There was a genuine joy in his eye, inspired by the pain he’d inflicted, the distress.

“I saw the pictures of you in Paris. We’re everywhere, too –”

He rose a hand to stroke her face, keeping the gun in place.

“I think it’d blow your mind just how much a drop of that guy’s blood cost,” he said. “If we cut you up, would his come still be inside you? We could scrape it out and sell that, too…”

Darcy’s lips spread in a smile.

“He pulls out,” she whispered, and Thompson began to laugh.

“What a sweet boy he is –”

There was a distant rumble of an engine and Thompson looked toward it, Bobby springing into action, and Darcy took the opportunity to bring her hand up from behind her back, holding her earring between her thumb and forefinger.

She plunged the tip into Thompson’s eye and he gave a yell, reeling back as the van came into view, and Darcy rolled away, out of his grip as the vehicle ran straight into Bobby.

-

Steve bolted from the car, racing over to Darcy’s side as Mitchell and Lex sprang from the van to reach the man they’d just run over.

He saw the other body that had to be Churchill laying on the ground in the corner of his eye and he moved on instinct, ripping Thompson to his feet, dropping the gun to the ground as he punched him unconscious.

“You took your time,” Darcy gasped, and he glanced her way, eyes scanning her for injuries.

Her wig was gone and her makeup was a little smudged but she seemed otherwise unharmed. His shoulders heaved at the realization and Darcy softened.

“Churchill –”

“He turned on us, I dunno,” Darcy said. “There’s the other guy, he went to get a shovel –”

She dove to pick up the gun and Steve’s head whipped behind them to the figure that appeared at the side of the house, his own gun drawn.

Darcy shot him twice with an inexpert stance, and the man fell to the ground, Steve’s ears ringing as he glanced back at her. She stowed the gun in the back of her pants.

“He was gonna shoot you.”

Thompson gave a groan. Steve looked down at him, seeing he’d broken his nose, blood gushing down his chin and onto his suit.

“He’s dead,” Mitchell called, and they looked at the other guard on the ground.

The dent in the front of the van was significant.

“We have to get outta here,” Lex added, communicating something to Darcy with a single look, and she shook her head.

“Steve,” she said. “We need Natasha, now.”

Steve was about to agree, but he heard a squeal of tyres in the distance, his eyes following the sound in the dark, but the others hadn’t heard it yet.

“Someone else is coming.”

“What?” Mitchell said, and they converged together, with the three dead men and Thompson beneath them.

It was a sports car, orange in the moonlight. It was the kind of car Nat would have driven once upon a time. Mitchell cleared his throat.

“I’m guessing there’s no point hiding…”

The car came to a stop at the bottom of the driveway, braking jerkily, before a small, slender figure ducked out.

It was Kayleigh, crying and racing over, her tiara slipping down. Her mascara had run, and her hair was in her face. She pushed it back, sobbing as she came closer.

How the fuck were they meant to explain this to Thompson’s daughter?

“Kayleigh –” Darcy began, and the girl tried to slip past her, but Darcy caught her in her arms, pushing her back.

“What did he do? What did he do?” she was saying, her eyes on her father as she sobbed and sniffled. “Did he kill -? Oh, my God!”

She began to scream as she saw the bodies littering the ground. Thompson came back to life, blinking up at her as she struggled in Darcy’s grasp.

Steve stepped forward, restraining Kayleigh with ease, as Darcy cupped the girl’s cheek.

“Kayleigh, it’s alright –”

“He raped me, he raped me –” she was gasping, and Steve felt his guts twist at the girl’s proclamation, her eyes meeting Darcy’s.

She seemed dazed.

“He rapes me, he rapes little girls, too – at these parties, his friends – they all rape us-”

“He can’t get you anymore,” Darcy said, and Kayleigh shook her head.

Kayleigh went still, and Darcy held her face in her hands, Steve’s hands loosening on the girl’s arms, letting her relax where she stood.

“It’s okay…”

Kayleigh’s arm shot out and she reached for the gun in Darcy’s pants, managing to get it out, only to have Darcy and Steve wrestle her to the ground, the gun pointing to the sky.

“Let me do this! Let me do this! LET ME DO THIS!”

-

Steve leaned against a dark truck, staring at the grass as he heard the distant sounds of the SHIELD clean-up crew working throughout the night. He put the Styrofoam cup of coffee to his lips and couldn’t taste it when he sipped.

Small mercies. He knew SHIELD had terrible coffee, always.

It was his habit to seek Darcy out and he found her almost instantly, talking to Nat under a tarp covering, her arms crossed.

Lex and Mitchell were long gone, taken into custody. In all likelihood, they’d be recruited for SHIELD. Steve supposed it was the best outcome. It still wasn’t entirely clear why Churchill had sold them out, he hadn’t managed to get Darcy to give him a straight answer.

Kayleigh was taken back to her place, the FBI dragged back into it to find the stash she told Steve and Darcy about, when she could finally pull in a decent breath.

Darcy interrupted his train of thought, hitting his foot with her toe.

“This is a fucking mess.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Steve murmured.

Their eyes met and Darcy’s lips pressed together, her brows knitting. He over at Nat, seeing she was watching them but pretending not to. Darcy’s eyes followed his, but Nat had already moved back over to the agents cleaning up the blood from the grass, her hands deep in her jacket pockets.

“She told me to retire,” Darcy murmured.

Their eyes locked.

“Not the worst idea,” Steve said.

“You first,” she said, and he let out a breath of a laugh.

The silence that followed felt heavy. They could have died. He didn’t think she’d dwell on it half as much as he would – he seemed to value her life more than she ever did, but it was hard to put that into words, without her throwing it back in his face with some joke.

“Darcy,” he began, and she nodded, biting her lip.

“I know.”

The look he gave her seemed to convey the words well enough. He was glad she was alive, even if it meant things not turning out how she hoped. He pushed off of the van, moving toward her, raising his arms to wrap around her, pulling her close.

To his surprise, she lifted her arms in turn to hug him back, burying her face in his chest.

-

They left Westchester and drove back to the city.

“Let’s get a hotel,” Darcy said, as they drew closer to Brooklyn.

They borrowed a SHIELD car, Steve driving as always. He could see the sky had changed, dawn nearing as they hit the metropolitan streets.

They chose a hotel not unlike the one they’d been in on their first night together, when Steve had felt guilty for fucking her in that abandoned apartment against the wall. Like the first time, he paid for a room, and they rode the elevator in silence.

When they got to the room, Darcy took the key card and did the honors, smiling up at him as she opened the door.

“I’m gonna have the biggest bubble bath.”

“You want me to order room service?” he asked, as the door shut behind them.

She crowded him, their hips bumping as her head tilted to meet his, standing on tip-toe as she kissed him, slow and thorough. Steve sighed, his tongue slipping between her lips as he caught her by the waist. He wanted to throw her onto the bed and show her how glad he was she was in one piece.

The adrenaline had long worn off, but she always had the ability to make his desire kick into top gear, and he felt the urge to tug her clothes off and kiss her all over, his blood rushing…

She pulled back with a smack of their lips, their eyes meeting.

“If we weren’t… us,” she murmured, and he glanced at her wet mouth. “What would you call me?”

“What?”

“You call me ‘sweetheart’, or – or ‘dollface’ or something?” she asked. “You called me ‘sweetheart’ once.”

“Worst mistake of my life,” he said, and she smiled at him. “Haven’t said it since.”

“I’d probably call you ‘baby’,” she said.

“Baby?”

She nodded, going in for another kiss. His hand slipped down to her rear and he gave her a squeeze, Darcy’s laugh following. She moved back.

“I’ll have a bath and then we’ll talk it over,” she said.

“Talk it over?” Steve repeated, turning away to the phone on the bedside table. “Talk what over?”

He sat on the mattress, picking up the receiver, his eyes on Darcy. Her hands were on her hips, and she made him stop still, like always.

She was so beautiful in that moment that he felt the emotion rise up in his throat.

“Everything,” she whispered, smiling.

He smiled back at her, turning his head. He put the phone to his ear and picked up the menu, knowing Darcy would want a burger and fries and a lot of coffee. That woman could drink a gallon of it and never be satisfied.

He stared at the wall for a few seconds, waiting for the reception to pick up, hearing Darcy shut the bathroom door and run the bath.

When he was done ordering, he put the receiver down, picking up the TV remote. He muted it, wondering if Darcy needed more time before she could enjoy anything with him. If she just wanted to screw until she felt a little better, he’d be fine with that. He’d done that with her plenty before.

He grew distracted, catching himself daydreaming a little. She’d be a good agent, if he could manage to convince her to join SHIELD. She’d hate it at first, but she could still make a difference that way, maybe.

He was starting to hope. It was so unlike him but she brought it out of him. God, he must drive her nuts, being such a dope around her all the time…

“Darce, you want company?” he called out.

He imagined her cheeky reply (“Doing _what_, exactly?”), but there was only silence, and the running water still in the background.

How long did it take for her to fill the tub in there?

He got up from the bed, walking over to the bathroom door, reaching for the knob. It was locked. Darcy had got into the habit of leaving bathroom doors ajar even when she was peeing, so this confused him a little.

“Darce, you okay?”

Maybe she was crying and didn’t want him to see.

He looked down, seeing water trickling out from under the door, pooling on to carpet. He knocked on the door. Maybe she fell asleep, or she’d fainted – she could have delayed shock.

“Sweetheart?”

No answer, so he gave the door a shove, knocking it open, and he looked around, seeing the bath tub was overflowing, water still running from the faucets, the mirror foggy, the air rising to the window that was wide open.

She was nowhere to be found.

He spun back around, walking into the hotel bedroom, not seeing any sign of her bag. In place of it on the chair by the bathroom door was a piece of paper from the hotel stationery.

In looping scrawl she'd written:

** _Sorry, baby _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna need you to suspend your disbelief, for my own sanity. How is this shit nearly over? Is this ennui a little too close to home at this point? I mean... yeah. But thanks for sticking with this! All five of you. ❤
> 
> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)  
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	12. life_on_mars.mp3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here fucking goes nothing, I guess aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

_If you ever change your mind about leaving it all behind_   
_Remember, remember, no geography_   
**\- "No Geography" by The Chemical Brothers**

_But the film is a saddening bore_   
_For she's lived it ten times or more_   
_She could spit in the eyes of fools_   
**\- "Life On Mars?" by David Bowie**

**life_on_mars.mp3**

Steve cycled through the classic emotions when it came to Darcy in the months that followed.

First, he felt a unique type of betrayal given only to ex-lovers. A person he’d been that close to, truly close to, chose to leave him behind. It was almost inexcusable, given what they’d been through, and then he knew why she did it – so that would never happen again.

Second, he felt an admiration for her and everything she’d managed to do. She’d disappeared completely, as if she’d gone with half of life years ago when Thanos snapped his fingers.

She must have assumed another identity. There was a week sandwiched between the months when he was certain she’d actually died, and that’s why she’d never shown up since, but then he assured himself out of sheer stubbornness that she had to be alive, especially after Thompson died.

Senator Thompson died in jail under suspicious circumstances. Steve didn’t think Darcy had personally done it – despite how fierce she was, he was quite sure she’d never killed anyone but Thompson’s guard in Westchester. A guard or someone close enough to Thompson staged his hanging, though the press coverage made it seem like a suicide. It was obvious that the people entangled in the whole scandal needed him gone, or the people he owed money to were done waiting, so when Steve turned his TV over to the news one mid-morning after coming back from a group session, he felt his heart sink and then soar in a matter of seconds. The feeling itself made him a little nauseous with excitement.

It was a sign of Darcy if he’d ever get one. Another time months later he thought he saw her in a crowd, standing on the edges of it, wearing a maroon beanie with her glasses.

He imagined her hiding in some cave in the Middle East, or in an abandoned temple in Asia. He pictured finding her on some beach, and his wishing began to infect his brain, along with memories of the dead. He tried to move on, but knew it was futile, like everything else.

Sometimes he’d get so angry for her for leaving that he thought maybe his hurt would manifest in physical harm, though this had obviously never happened before, except for the times he was rougher with her, but that was consensual and encouraged. He longed to kiss her and kiss her and wrap his arms around her. He knew he’d never feel close enough to her, even when he pushed the physical limits, clinging to her while they both cried.

He knew his feelings didn’t matter. If they did, it was a bizarre way for her to show him that.

He didn’t know what he’d say to her. He knew what should be said, but the words would feel empty or even cheap. They’d never be enough, nothing would ever be enough to express what he felt, and maybe once years ago he felt otherwise, but the world was no longer kind to lovers.

Because he _did_ love her, desperately so.

But it didn’t matter.

He visited Becca. He kept the meetings going.

He watched the world begin to unfurl the secrets of a world behind the 1%.

He was eventually spared the lack of closure months after Darcy left him in that hotel room, when Natasha showed up in Brooklyn, her mouth a grim line when he let her into his apartment.

She never visited him. She’d become a recluse, never venturing out from the Avengers facility upstate. It wasn’t like her to arrive without warning, either, but Steve figured she meant to catch him. There was no way of avoiding her, not that he did it much anymore.

He was getting better at checking up on her, inviting himself for the hell of it. He missed her terribly, he missed being her friend.

“Steve, it’s Darcy,” Nat said, when he placed the coffee cup in front of her, crossing his arms.

“Okay.”

She wasn’t mentioned by name, at least not anymore. He knew it had to be serious. There was always some kind of hacking going on, but there was no way of knowing if Darcy was behind some of it or all of it. Since Thompson the online world had begun to adapt to Darcy’s distinct flair for vindication, and Steve was all for it.

“She’s dead,” Nat said, and Steve stared at her. “I’m so sorry.”

“How do you know?” Steve said instantly, and Nat drew in a breath.

“There was a hurricane. She was one of the Americans they found, under the rubble.”

Steve recalled the news story that week. A cluster of islands in the Pacific Ocean were virtually wiped out, which was so cruel given their economies had struggled since the Blip because tourism had been ripped to shreds globally.

“How do you know?” he asked again, a little softer.

“A contact positively identified her body,” Nat said, and Steve felt a lump in his throat. “She… she died relatively peacefully. It was the middle of the night.”

“Right,” Steve breathed.

He looked away, out the window. He felt himself begin to split. One half of him was in the past, waking up that morning and thinking of the people that were gone, including Darcy. The other half of him was thinking of going back to bed, alone, forever.

He’d never see her again.

He’d never, ever see her again.

“They bringing back the body?”

“She was cremated,” Nat said. “They’re flying back the ashes, we can put something together for her, with the others that died…”

Steve stopped listening. Her name and picture would be on the news soon, with a short obituary that wouldn’t reflect anything she’d done, and her allies would be the only ones to know the truth.

“She deserves some kind of medal for what she… what she did,” he murmured, and Nat stopped talking, blinking at him.

“No government’s gonna –”

“Then we’ll make it about Thor, not the hacking,” Steve cut in, and Natasha nodded.

“Yeah, that’d work.”

-

Steve’s delayed reaction to the news came the next morning when he was out running. He broke down, in the middle of the street, sobbing with his hands in his hair, his knees giving out.

-

Six months later, he was telling the same story he told every group.

“The world is in our hands. It's left to us guys, and we have to do something with it. Otherwise... Thanos should have killed all of us.”

He meant it, though a lot of the story was omitted. He loved his friends dearly, the ones that were gone and the ones that stayed behind.

He didn’t think he was a man out of time anymore. He’d carved out his own life among the pain, but he had to keep pushing on, even if felt like a lie a lot of the time.

He couldn’t imagine leaving Natasha behind.

-

When he arrived on the beach, the crashing of the waves greeted him, the sun beaming down on the back of his neck.

He adjusted his shield, placing it on his back, just as a figure appeared at the entrance to one of the huts.

Darcy stood there in a long sarong, her long hair the curliest he’d ever seen it. Her lips parted in shock as he walked over to her, unable to keep the small smile from his face.

Despite the shock, she managed to push it down, shaking her head as she began to smile.

“God.”

“Hey,” he replied, and her eyes scanned him.

He backed her into the hut, lips brushing as she sighed into their first kiss. They picked up where they left off, Steve’s shield and the case of the Stones on the floor as his suit followed, Darcy’s clothes joining his.

He tried to be gentle and slow, but it got away from them, and they were rolling around. She ended up underneath him, their foreheads pressed together as he pushed inside, filling her to the hilt with gasps between them that turned to moans.

She was shaking, her façade melting away when she came. She looked so relieved to climax, her eyes flying shut as she squeezed him, and he followed after her, coming inside her for the first time, everything turning dreamy.

Her hand stroked his face as they lay on their sides in the afterglow.

“I’m afraid to ask,” she whispered.

“You can ask me anything,” he said, and she let out a breath of a laugh.

Maybe she could see he was different, that he wasn’t _her_ Steve necessarily. Her thumb brushed over his cheekbone and he caught her hand, holding it to his face.

There was a tenderness, and a sadness there that she must have detected, because she sucked in a breath, her eyes turning glassy.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Time travel.”

She let out another gasp.

“Do you believe me?” he said, and she began to laugh, but she was crying.

“You appeared on the beach in your suit, I think whatever you’re up to, I’d believe, Steve…”

He kissed her on the lips, feeling his own sob bubble up but he managed to squash it, their eyes meeting as they held one another’s faces.

“I knew to come here, because you die here in six months,” he whispered. “And I wanted to be selfish.”

Darcy didn’t seem shocked, she only nodded, pressing her lips together.

They made love again, and it almost hurt when it was over. It felt like Steve had been rubbed raw, his bones aching deep inside him.

He lifted his head from the pillow they shared, glancing out the hut door to the shore. The sun was setting and the colors had changed to a vibrant pink and orange in the sky.

It’s what Vormir looked like, according to Clint.

They stood hand in hand, watching the tide as the moon rose in the sky. Steve could see every star. He glanced at Darcy, whose eyes were still skyward.

“I love you.”

She turned her head and smiled at him.

“I love you,” she replied.

He knew that she loved him, too, without her saying it, by the look on her face. She was so at ease with it. It struck him now that she always had loved him, the entire time she’d known him.

The both turned their heads back towards the night sky, where they got lost in the stars.

There, everything felt endless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Schrödinger's Endgame. ❤
> 
> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cjLeE4ndimxIT56qu5Mdk?si=OC21SmIYRuSpmpgI7F4Fxg)   
[my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (Thank you for reading, I love you.)


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